


A Beginner's Guide to Stealing a God

by faufaren



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, F/M, Family Fluff, Fix-It, Gen, Human Experimentation, M/M, Mental Instability, Multi, Original Character(s), So many tropes, Time Travel, all my favorite things, honestly, it's probably crack, maybe a little bit of zack and aerith, not dumb young cloud, shameless guilty pleasure writing, so many headcannons combined into one monstrosity, they deserve better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-18 22:32:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5945737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faufaren/pseuds/faufaren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sephiroth is in the laboratories for a routine checkup when he meets an odd boy who asks him about the yellow of his voice. (Or, in which Hojo steals a god and doesn't even know it.) </p><p>Starts out pre-Crisis Core, diverges from canon storyline. OC fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fate

>   
>  _“Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don’t always like.”_  
>  ––Lemony Snicket  
> 

The first time Sephiroth saw him was at his bi-weekly checkup at the laboratory. 

Sephiroth hated the checkups. He couldn’t stand the laboratories and their clean-cut geometry, the sterile whites, the smell of antiseptic always in the air. He disliked the glinting steel on the trays and in the drawers, the moderated temperature that they claimed were carefully maintained at room temperature but always managed to bring a chill in his bones. The cages that contain the live experiments, the large million-gil equipment arranged carefully in each room, the mako tanks that are a constant reminder, always in the corner of his vision, just so. 

The appointment with Hojo was simple routine; but that man had always liked to call him down at random and infrequent intervals in between the bi-weeklies. (It was another reminder, Sephiroth knew, of the fact that he was Hojo’s––his greatest achievement, the culmination of all his genius put into use in one being––)

Like a highly-prized posession, Sephiroth received fine tuning and maintenance on a regular basis, mostly in these appointments where he had his blood tested and his Mako shots shot and was poked and prodded about and around the place. Honestly, Sephiroth didn't see the point in such effort in peacetime, where the most of combat he would see nowadays were at the VR simulation floors at Shrina headquarters. But of course Professor Hojo couldn't let his work become complacent and rusty, no, that wouldn't do at all for the perfectionist in the man. 

The anticipation left him in an even more awful mood than usual, that morning. And a cranky Sephiroth was a scary Sephiroth, and that meant that it sent all the people he passed in the hallway scampering out of his way and nearly gave his poor secretary heart failure. 

His office that morning was undisturbed, as everyone in the department knew that when General Sephiroth was in a mood, he preferred his solitude. Thus it was in blissful silence that he did his paperwork, looked over a few mission reports, frowned at a missive about a group of third-classes occasionally smoking contraband in the second floor bathrooms, and glanced at the clock at precise ten-minute intervals. He was due in the laboratories at eleven-thirty sharp. It would take approximately seven minutes to get there, with an additional two in case of traffic. (Hojo didn't like tardiness.) 

At eleven twenty-one on the dot, Sephiroth left his office and took the elevator down to Shinra's underground laboratories. He arrived at exactly eleven-thirty, where he was ambushed by a scientist who ushered him to another room further in, despite the fact that he already knew where to go. 

(Sometimes he felt that they treated him like he was something that would wilt and break if he didn't constantly live in an isolated, controlled environment. Sometimes they forgot that he had survived through monsters, battle, and war before he had even turned fifteen. It was ironic when he knew that he was unmatched in terms of combat ability and Mako enhancements, and they, of all people, should know it as well.) 

But as he progressed further into the massive laboratory, his enhanced hearing began to pick up the sounds of talking. And it wasn't Hojo who was speaking, which would have been nothing surprising since the professor was known among his department and his subjects to mutter aloud quite a bit. 

It was––a young voice. One that wasn't any scientist and most certainly not Hojo, not unless he somehow found a way to reverse the effects of aging since Sephiroth last saw him, and even then he doubted that the professor's de-aged voice would sound like that. 

"––this one’s rather colorful, don't you think? Like a pinwheel,” said the voice. 

"Get away from that cage, before it takes off a finger. The test subjects are not to be petted."  
Ah, there was the professor. But who was the owner of the young voice? (And what, they were petting the experiments?) 

When Sephiroth arrived at the examination room, the very first thing he noticed was the small boy perched on a metal table next to a more familiar figure in a white lab coat. Hojo turned to him as soon as he entered, and said, ever in that terribly grating voice, "Ah, there you are, Sephiroth. Why don't you take a seat over there while I finish this up?" 

Silently, Sephiroth took off his jacket and settled himself on one of the exam tables, ignoring how the smell of disinfectants and antiseptics (and, of course, there was the Mako) burned his nostrils with each intake of air. Instead, he turned his attention towards the other occupant in the room. 

The boy couldn't possibly be older than twelve, and seemed even younger with delicate features and skin that looked as if he hadn't seen the light of day in all of his life. Which, Sephiroth allowed, was entirely plausible. But if that was true, why hadn't he seen this boy before? 

(He also didn't––couldn't––miss the white hospital garb that the young boy wore. The clothes were all too familiar; reminiscent of his own childhood. He could still remember the rub of the thin fabric of those clothes against his skin, that did nothing to protect him from the constant chill of the laboratories when he was younger. It was always…cold.) 

Hojo wrapped up whatever he was fiddling around on the table and turned to him. Having done the exact same routine countless times before, Sephiroth knew by heart what was to be expected of him, and Hojo took the proffered arm, already in the motion of binding it with a rubber tie. The professor didn't say a thing to him. 

"You should really do something about that gray in your head." 

Sephiroth turned his head, and came face to face with the unidentified boy. Half a second later his brain finished analyzing the question, and concluded that he needed further inquiry. "Pardon me?" he asked. 

"Maybe you can observe the weather more. It's a great way of getting rid of the gray. You really should, before the gray eats up all the yellow," the boy continued. He blinked at the General, the odd glaze never leaving his eyes, which were an impossible shade of magenta, the hue somewhere between a vibrant red and lavender purple. "How is it that you speak in yellow? It's a very nice yellow, so you should be careful to keep it. I don't think you can get it back anywhere else if you ever lose it." 

In his life, Sephiroth had seen a lot of what the scientists of Shinra like to keep down in the labs. And the Professor––he was a another brand of scientific ruthlessness altogether. The morals and ethics of normal society were not so much a suggestion as they were discarded completely in favor of research and scientific advancement, sometimes regarded even as hindrances. 

(So it shouldn't be much of a stretch to say that human experimentation was a personal favorite of the Professor’s. Though not so much since Hojo had moved his main base of operations to Shinra HQ, as there were only so many things one can do behind the President’s back in his own castle. 

But when Sephiroth was younger, when he and Hojo still resided in a different, more private facility, human experiments were an indulgence. Sephiroth remembered getting close to one when he had still been a child. They had almost been friends, until the subject inexplicably started to swell up like a balloon until it exploded, splattering him with all manners of body parts. Even after years of seeing much more brutal things, it was still a memory that Sephiroth did not enjoy.)

So while Sephiroth knew all of this…he couldn't help but stare. 

"Seven, occupy yourself somewhere else," Hojo said brusquely, like he had to tell the boy the same thing many times before. As the boy, now dubbed 'Seven', skipped breezily out the door, he added almost in afterthought, "And no petting the test subjects." 

"Don't worry, professor. There aren't any clovers growing here," was the only reply, as nonsensical as everything else that came out of the boy's mouth before he disappeared out the door. 

There was a moment of silence between Sephiroth and Hojo, who had finished taking his blood and was currently running tests on it. Then, as if sensing the questioning gaze on the back of his head (as he was still studying the electronic screens and taking notes in neat script, and therefore could not actually see the other man), Hojo suddenly said, "That is Subject 7. We had him transferred here from the Junon facilities two weeks ago. Fascinating, isn't he?" 

All this was said with the prideful kind of tone that one used when boasting about a prized possession to its audience. Sephiroth said nothing, knowing that Hojo had more to say and didn't appreciate being interrupted. Especially when he talked about his projects. The professor liked to tell him, his pride and joy, all about his other experiments whenever there was an opportunity. 

"He's such a beautiful specimen, reared in our laboratories since infancy, you know. The things he says are complete nonsense, but tolerable enough if you ignore it. His ability to utilize magic from the very atmosphere around him far outweighs any instabilities in his psyche, after all." 

Sephiroth almost raised his eyebrows in surprise, but refrained from doing so because Hojo disapproved of displays of any emotion. But there was still surprise, and something akin to amazement as he considered the boy with a new perspective. (And, what was that tone in Hojo's voice... was that... _fondness_? Yes, oddly enough, Hojo was _fond_ of his test subject. Sephiroth couldn't tell whether that was a good thing or not.) 

"We call it natural magic," the professor rambled on, preparing the Mako shots now, handling the bottles and syringes with practiced grace. "It's a phenomenon, something that's never been seen in all of humanity's recorded history. To be able to accomplish the paranormal without the use of materia or any other medium or magic conductor. That boy may very well become the key to finding the Promised Land…”

Idly, he began to roll up Sephiroth's sleeve on his other arm, never pausing in his stream of words. 

“Personally, I believe the President is thinking too small, too far into the future. Why not use what the boy has, now? Of course, we're still in the process of figuring out the limits and full capabilities of Subject 7’s power, not to mention what caused it in the first place, but imagine what we could do once we figure it all out! Imagine the possibilities––for example, an army full of natural magic users... and with Mako infusions, it would be practically invincible. SOLDIER with natural magic. Oh, Shinra would be able to take over the world twice over." 

This time, Sephiroth did narrow his eyes. Hojo didn't just imply what he thought he did, right? 

"You will not be experimenting on SOLDIER." It was the closest he could get to an order. 

The hand that was tapping the bubbles to the top of the needle froze mid-flick, and Hojo slowly turned around to face the stoic man sitting on the exam table. "Excuse me?" The scientist's voice was even more grating on the ears than normal, and fluorescent lights glinted in glasses over dull grey eyes. "You have no control over me." 

Sephiroth steeled himself inwardly, but remained unmoving in his seat, ever conscious of his place in the laboratories, surrounded by white walls and shining steel. "As General of SOLDIER, I am on equal terms as you, Professor Hojo, Director of Science and Developmental Studies. You have no jurisdiction in the affairs of my SOLDIERs." 

"Ah, but you forget yourself. Who is more important to the President? You, or _me_?" The needle was jabbed into his flesh not so gently, and pain blossomed and spread as Hojo pushed the treated Mako into Sephiroth's bloodstream. "Who made the SOLDIER? Who is responsible for the enhancements that these soldiers are given?" 

Sephiroth let out his breath slowly through his nose as the Mako spread throughout himself, burning like acid the entire way. His teeth unconsciously clenched. A movement that Hojo easily caught, having spent twenty years studying his body and everything it does. A smile curled over lips stretched thin over sharp bones, and Hojo sneered. 

"Without me, your SOLDIERs would be mere infantrymen, no different from the bumbling men that fool Heidegger presides over. Without me..." The scientist leaned over and Sephiroth could just barely smell the toothpaste mixed with sour breath through the Mako haze. "I am your creator and you, my creation. Without me, you wouldn't even exist. We're done here. Get out of my sight." 

And with that dismissal, Hojo returned to the station he was working at before, Sephiroth apparently forgotten. 

The General sat frozen on the table a few moments more, but started moving when his desire to get out of the laboratories overpowered the growing pain in his muscles. He stood as gracefully as he could with new Mako coursing through his veins. It felt like _fire_. No matter how many times it was done to him, he would never get used to it-- there was no becoming immune to the effects of having new Mako injected into your body. 

As he crossed the main laboratory to the entrance on the other side, he caught a glimpse of a small white form out of the corner of his eye. The boy that Hojo called Subject 7 was sitting on one of the heavy steel cages that held something that looked to be a cross between a massive bull and a bald jaguar. It was asleep, which was something Sephiroth felt somewhat grateful for. Hojo's mutated experiments never seemed to like him. 

"Is the grey gone yet?" The boy stared at him with those wide brilliant eyes as he approached. Then he frowned sadly. "Oh. No, it's still there. There's red in you too, now." 

Sephiroth had to ask, “Why are you so concerned with the gray?” 

“It's the clouds, you know? The clouds are always the bringers of change. They are…” He trailed off, gaze falling from Sephiroth's face to somewhere around the buttons of his shirt, though it wasn't so much as looking at him than through him, staring at something a thousand miles away. Then, as if recovered, the boy suddenly continued, “You know, the white and puffy ones are kind and gentle, but the thunderclouds are also very pretty. Powerful. It's important to cherish both.” 

The boy's hair was absolutely _flyaway_ , Sephiroth noted, idly amused. He had never seen anything like it before, the white wispy tufts that stuck out of his scalp like some sort of strange fae straight out of a fairytale. It was far worse than even Angeal's student, Zackary Fair, with his own mess of shaggy spikes. 

"What is your name?" He asked the boy, simple curiosity driving him, though it was likely he didn't know any other name apart from 'Subject 7'. 

But to his surprise, the reply was, "Icarus." 

Sephiroth considered the irony of the name, familiar with the greek mythological story of the son of Daedalus who tried to escape his father's castle on a pair of wings made of feathers and wax, who died when he went too close to the sun and the wax holding his wings together melted. He asked, just in case, "Just Icarus?" 

The boy, newly dubbed Icarus (because Sephiroth much preferred that name than the dehumanizing one that Hojo gave his subjects), nodded. "Just Icarus." 

"My name is Sephiroth," he offered, if only to be fair. Perhaps he felt pity for this young creature trapped in the laboratories at the scientists' mercies, just as he had been in his own youth. 

Icarus tilted his head to one side in a rather endearing way. "Just Sephiroth?" 

"Just Sephiroth." 

"Just so." Icarus nodded sagely to himself again, as if all was right in the world. Sephiroth wished it was true. Still, this had to be the most serene of Hojo's experiments he'd ever seen. He studied the boy, and the dazed set to his dainty features and the glaze to his eyes, looking as if he was stuck in a perpetual dream while simultaneously interacting with the waking world. 

It was right around this time that Sephiroth realized it was likely that Icarus was not entirely sane. He couldn't honestly fault him for it, given how the boy was probably brought up. (And imagine that, still sustaining his presence of mind even during the things that the scientists put him through. It was probably a mercy to lose one's mind instead.) 

He found himself caught by those wide magenta eyes once again. Icarus smiled dreamily. "Your one-and-a-half sun is waiting," he told the bewildered man, making vague shooing gestures with his hands. "Go." 

So Sephiroth went, finding no further business with the boy. He found Angeal waiting just outside of the doors, and wondered just how Icarus somehow knew about it. 

By Angeal's insistence, he was sent back to his apartment to take the rest of the day off with reassurances that all his paperwork would be made up for him. Halfway to his destination, he came to the possibility that perhaps, just perhaps, Hojo was wrong about it all being nonsense. 

(And, if it wasn't nonsense, he went on to think about the meaning of the one-and-a-half sun and how it was related to Angeal.)


	2. Mystery

> _"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.”_ ––H. P. Lovecraft 

Sephiroth didn't see Hojo again for the next few days, and consequently, didn't see the strange boy named Icarus either.

Strange, considering the professor’s tendency to call him down as frequently as possible, each with a variety of excuses that Sephiroth had stopped believing a long time ago. But the sad truth is that the truth is sad, and Sephiroth knew, in the back of his mind, that this was because Hojo had a new fascination now. A new project that distracted his attentions from Sephiroth––called Subject 7. Icarus.

(Unexpected guilt whelmed up in his chest, that came from the sense of vague relief that came out of ague relief at the thought that for once in his entire life, he was not the center of Professor Hojo’s attention––at least for now, who knew how long this temporary respite would last––along with the horrible question that for now had created: how long would Icarus last?) 

_'Reared in the laboratories since infancy...'_ He thought of Icarus, down below in the underground levels beneath the Shinra building, alone and surrounded by white walls and sterile steel, with nothing but scientists and the other test subjects for company. Icarus was human, seemed so very human, yet Sephiroth thought of how he had been treated like nothing more than a science experiment his entire life, and wondered how many of the boy's horrors matched those of his own. 

The curiosity had never been this strong before. Perhaps it was because Icarus was the first human experiment under Hojo's care he'd met that had retained actual human logic. Sephiroth had seen others before, and knew that they never behaved like anything other than crazed killing machines, or monsters (or they failed to respond to anything at all, and somehow that was worse than any of the others). But most of all, perhaps it was that Sephiroth could recall no records in which the President of Shinra ever gave Hojo the permission to retain a live human in the laboratories for experimentation. 

So it was on a late Sunday afternoon, when he had nothing to do to distract him from thinking that he found himself sitting at his kitchen counter nursing a mug of tea and doing exactly that. 

The door to his apartment suddenly opened, then shut, and he heard someone taking off their heavy boots at the entryway. A moment later Genesis strutted into the kitchen, with all the usual dramatic flare even without his flaming red leather coat, which was left on the hanger at the front door. 

There was a pause, as Sephiroth stared impassively at the redhead and Genesis stared back. Then Genesis raised both elegant eyebrows and settled gracefully into a stool across from Sephiroth. 

_"Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess, we seek it thus, and take to the sky."_ Unsurprisingly, LOVELESS was the first thing that came out of Genesis's mouth. 

Sephiroth kept the expression blank on his face, and sipped his tea. It was little more than lukewarm now. He put the mug down, somewhat displeased. "LOVELESS, first act." He identified, and easily picked out the second hidden meaning, honed from years of practice with Genesis's recitations. "Did Angeal set you up to this?" 

Genesis rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "Yes, Sephiroth," he conceded. "He did ask me, but we're all dying to know what has been on your mind lately. Even the idiot puppy has taken notice." 

"I am fine," Sephiroth resisted the urge to frown. "I've only been... thinking." 

"Obviously, but you're thinking so much you're becoming distracted at work." Genesis suppressed a sigh of exasperation. Getting straight answers out of the man was like pulling _teeth_. "It's not like you to allow distractions when it comes to your work. So what is it that’s been bothering you?" 

Sephiroth quickly came to the conclusion that anything less than satisfactory was going to keep Genesis nagging at him. He finally asked, "Do you recall the appointment I had with Professor Hojo?" 

"Yes..." Genesis frowned. "What of it?" 

"I met someone while I was at the laboratory. Not a scientist." 

_Pulling teeth._ Genesis leaned forward. "Who?" 

_"What."_ Sephiroth corrected him. "Another experiment, a human one, that has not yet been driven completely insane… " He cut the words off in his throat, feeling himself begin to babble. He drummed his fingers on his leg, a nervous habit he stopped moments when he realized what he was doing. 

Having known the other man long enough to understand that Sephiroth being this disturbed meant that there was more to tell about this poor human experiment, Genesis also knew when some tact was required. Despite all the cold exterior and the meters-thick wall of ice around his heart, Sephiroth was a surprisingly sensitive soul. Thus, Genesis forced down his impatience (honestly, he had no idea why Angeal asked him _of all people_ to do this), and gently prompted again, _"Who?"_

"Professor Hojo gave him the name of Subject 7..." Sephiroth began, sounding like he was reading from a textbook because of the way he was choosing his words very, very carefully. "He has the ability to utilize magic without materia. Professor Hojo is attempting to replicate this in other humans through artificial means. He was raised in a laboratory since infancy." 

_Just like me._ The words were unspoken, but Genesis wondered how much Sephiroth saw himself in Subject 7. 

"I thought Hojo didn't have the legal contracts from Shinra to experiment on another human."

Because for all that Shinra's reputation was power hungry and immoral, even the President drew the line at experimenting on his own species. When it was discovered a few years ago that Hojo was conducting live human experimentation with men taken from the infantry army, the scientist was forced to stop all progress immediately and shut the operation down, and the science department's budget was slashed drastically for the next four years. Still, the company didn't fire Hojo. Apparently, his contributions were more valuable than his flaws. 

"I looked on the database," Sephiroth told him. "He was listed as 'company property.'" 

And there was yet another correlation. 

(Genesis could remember a time long ago when they were still young and only in the early beginnings of a tentative and fragile friendship, Sephiroth had mentioned offhandedly his displeasure at Hojo’s constant focus on him. Genesis, shamelessly envious of the younger man, who was ridiculously strong and seemed to be perfect in every way of the word and yet, had the nerve to complain about it, got into a heated fight with Sephiroth. Angeal had been the only one there to buffer the argument and it ended in Sephiroth striding out the door, announcing that as an employee of the company, he was entitled to have a say in his treatments at the laboratories. 

The following day they didn't see a glimpse of long silver hair anywhere, and it was only very late at night that Angeal heard someone stumble in through his apartment door and got out of bed to check who it was, knowing that only two other people knew the passcode. 

The sight of Sephiroth, shaken and white as paper, shock and disbelief and denial written all over his fine features, had Angeal calling for Genesis immediately as he made Sephiroth sit down before he fell down. When Genesis arrived, he had stopped in place at the sight of Sephiroth so far gone from his normal spotless composure, and he wasn't able to utter a word the entire time that Angeal tried to coax the story out of Sephiroth's frozen lips. 

_"Property."_ Was the first thing he told them when Sephiroth finally decided to divulge what he had learned. _"I am the company's property. No official medical records, no legal documents, not even a birth certificate. I have no rights nor do I have any liberties aside from what the company allows me to have. So tell me..._

_"What proof do I have that I am human?"_

It was in that time that Sephiroth finally looked up at them and not at the cup of hot water Angeal had placed into his hands, and they both realized how very utterly lost this man really was, all those layers upon layers of carefully painted perfection transparent for one night.) 

People problems were really not one of his strong suits. Genesis acknowledged that, sighed, and did what he knew best-- quote LOVELESS. 

_"Ripples form on the water's surface, the wandering soul knows no rest."_

To that, Sephiroth gave a solemn nod.

* * *

When Shinra headquarters suddenly jolted with a very loud boom that made the building tremble down to its very foundations and woke up every occupant living in or around it at five in the morning, Sephiroth was already halfway down the hallway before he received a message on his PHS that the explosion was the result of an accident in the laboratory, there was nothing to worry about, sorry for the inconvenience, and may everyone have a nice day. 

He read the considerably thick slice of bullshit that Shinra seemed to have a penchant for serving out to its employees, shared a look with Angeal and Genesis (both bright-eyed and on high alert, clutching their respective weapons, still dressed in their sleepwear), and went back to his room without much hope that he would get any more sleep. 

“Who wants to bet that this morning’s excitement doesn’t have something much more to it than a mere lab accident?” Was Genesis’ greeting to them when they saw each other again later that morning, at the usual time that they went to work. 

“Sucker bet,” Angeal replied, shaking his head. “No dice.” 

“With the way they covered up the incident so quickly meant that it was something they expected would happen. It was so likely to happen, in fact, that there were procedures made in advance.” Genesis turned to Sephiroth, who was looking down at his PHS with an unreadable look on his face (not that it was any different than usual). “Sephiroth, care to grace us with your presence in the morning’s discussion?” 

Ignoring Genesis’ usual antagonism with practised ease, Sephiroth only flipped his PHS around so that the other two can read the summons on the screen. “Whatever the case,” he said. “I suspect we are about to find out very soon.” 

The underground laboratory level, when Sephiroth arrived, was in smoking, broken chaos. 

Scientists and their assistants, as well as janitors and people in large white one-piece suits with the biohazard sign stamped onto their chests ran around each other, barely noticing Sephiroth standing in the midst of them as they carried specimens and samples, papers and files, trying to get as much data as possible away from the destruction. 

There was still a faint layer of black smoke hovering near the ceiling. The white walls and stainless steel weren’t so perfect anymore. Everything was covered in soot and the entire level was dimmer and washed in a slightly yellow tint because the main overhead lights had been completely blasted out. Exposed wires occasionally shot out a cascade of sparks now and then, nearly setting one man’s hair on fire before the intern patted it out without so much as a glance as he hurried along, clutching a thick pile of files to his chest. 

As Sephiroth passed a whole line of computers that appeared to have exploded in a mess of smoldering wire and plastics, he noticed that large areas of the formerly pristine surfaces around him were gouged, no–– _flayed_ , as if someone had taken a giant grater to the floor, walls, and ceiling and peeled back large chunks of plaster and steel and linoleum, exposing the inner infrastructure underneath. 

He followed the direction of the gouges, the charred edges, the severity of the damage to the area, to some point in the middle of the main lab. It seemed to be the central blast point, where the explosion had originated from and where the damage was most severe (inwardly, Sephiroth wondered if there were any casualties in the event that occurred). 

Delicate instruments lay in sad heaps of glass and crumpled metal. The mako tanks nearby had been shattered, and he could see the large bags of the treated charcoal used to mop up mako spills piled to a miniature mountain off to the side, waiting to be disposed of. 

(Still, the mako lingered in the air. It burned his nose, made his skin crawl.) 

Then he saw one of the operating tables, reduced to nothing more than a twist of scrap metal with its restraints burnt off, skid marks leading to its place in the corner of the room as if it had been in the middle when the explosion happened. Something ominous settled in his gut, right then, a sudden suspicion that he can guess exactly what had caused the explosion. 

Beyond all this stood Hojo’s hunched form (all the hours he spent bent over the body of some hapless experiment on a steel table permanently written into his very body). 

“Sephiroth! Finally, boy, come along quickly, I have other things to do after I debrief you on your new assignment…” 

Next to the man, held tight with a hand on his shoulder, Icarus waved cheerfully at Sephiroth. Red imprints and blue bruises marked the fading rings of raw flesh around the boy’s wrists. 

Sephiroth’s hands curled into tight fists, the leather of the gloves creaking audibly before he hid them in the folds of his jacket before anyone could see. Yes, he knew exactly what had caused the explosion. 

(Pity that the professor wasn’t caught in it as well. It would have been 

very 

convenient.)

* * *

That was how Shinra's three First Classes found themselves gathered in Sephiroth's office, surrounded by neat and ordered books on floor-to-ceiling shelves, a filing cabinet at the side, a large mahogany desk, the leather chair behind it (which Genesis had titled 'Sephiroth's Throne'), and the lone guest chair in front of it. 

Sephiroth's silver hair was illuminated _just so_ by the backlight of the morning sun coming in through the large windows behind him, that he looked unmistakably like an angelic being descended from the heavens, but Angeal and Genesis were looking not at him but at the young boy he had in front of him. 

"It's an unexpected development," Sephiroth said, putting his hands on Icarus's shoulders and gently pushing him forward, as if presenting him to his two companions. "But as of this morning, Professor Hojo has entrusted his care to me. His name is Icarus." 

Another few seconds crawled by as Genesis and Angeal processed the words. Angeal started nodding slowly, a furrow in his brow as he asked, "Why did Hojo give a kid to you? And for how long?" 

"It is to educate him in the social skills of common society, and to gain experience in doing so," Sephiroth answered succinctly. Then he quirked his eyebrow, a wry expression appearing on his face as he said, “Though I suppose that's a coverup excuse for getting him away from the laboratories while they repair the damage caused by the explosion. It wasn't specified how long, but judging from what I saw earlier down there, it might be a considerable time.” 

“Regardless,” he continued, "Hojo gave me instructions in which I am to follow regarding Icarus's care. You two are to assist me in this task." 

"Sephiroth," Genesis suddenly said, a funny tone in his voice. "Is Subject 7 this boy?" 

"Yes. His name is Icarus." Sephiroth repeated adamantly, and suddenly they noticed how the man had both his hands on top of either of the boy's shoulders, the way he cast his shadow over him as if to shield from the sun, the protective stance he had assumed. 

Goodness gracious, thought Genesis, the boy was absolutely tiny. He barely stood to Sephiroth mid-chest, and looked almost unbearably fragile next to that powerful, mako-enhanced body. Genesis had a moment of doubt of the boy's survival in the SOLDIER division, even with Sephiroth as his watcher every waking moment. 

"You never quite mentioned how young he was," Genesis commented quietly to the General. 

"It was not asked of me." 

"It would have been rather nice to know." _That Shinra's scientists had yet another child in their clutches with full liberty to do whatever they wanted to him._ That much was left unsaid, but they all knew well enough to read between the words. 

Angeal had a frown on his face, largely displeased at this new discovery. He, of course, had heard of Subject 7, but only secondhand from Genesis. "How old is he actually?" 

"The exact date isn't specified in his files," Sephiroth nodded towards the thick manilla folder on his desk. "But he is around eleven years of age." 

“You do realize that this is essentially a babysitting job?” Genesis huffed, somehow finding amusement in the situation. “Why give this to us? Why not one of the other scientists, or even the Turks? Surely they are more suited for these sorts of miscellaneous tasks than three SOLDIERS.” 

“Given the man’s paranoia, I wouldn't be surprised if Hojo trusted his own science experiments more than his colleagues.” Though if Sephiroth really thought about it, Hojo did seem to have a penchant for tasking him things that could have easily been assigned to other people. 

(Sephiroth do this, Sephiroth do that, Sephiroth take care of children, Sephiroth go fetch the moon down from the sky.)

Angeal's eyebrows had furrowed even deeper, though not at the thought of having to take care of Icarus but rather that Hojo held such little regard for other human beings. He crossed his arms, mentally checking things off in his head as he said it out loud. "He can move into Sephiroth's apartment since he has a spare bedroom anyway. I'll introduce him to Zack. He has a way with the cadets, who aren't far from Icarus's age. And he needs new clothes. I won't have him walking around in that––" 

He searched for the word to describe Icarus's white medical garb, looking as if he had been plucked right out of the labs. Which, Angeal knew, he was. "--outfit. I'll have Zack or myself take him shopping as soon as I get the chance." 

"Cluck, cluck," Genesis murmured teasingly at his friend. "You're letting your maternal colors show, dear Angeal." 

During their discussion, Icarus had only blinked at the office in fascinated silence. When he finally shifted his magenta gaze to the men around him, he spoke for the first time since the meeting. 

"You're all getting too much pink in you, it's blocking out the blue," he told them knowledgeably. "The star river will come. You wouldn't want that." 

There sat another stunned silence. And then Genesis uttered a flabbergasted "What?" and fixed an expectant look on Sephiroth for an explanation. 

He only gave him the tiniest of shrugs and gently herded Icarus towards Angeal, who looked as if he was positively itching to administer what his close friends called his 'mother hen' instincts on the small boy. 

"Hello, Icarus, my name is Angeal Hewley." Angeal smiled softly down at Icarus and laid a massive hand on his back. "Come, I'll show you your new living quarters." 

"What a lovely shade of green you are, Angeal Hewley. It has none of the ripples you see in other people." 

"Pardon me? Oh... thank you, Icarus. You can just call me Angeal." 

"Alright then, Angeal." 

As they walked away, Sephiroth turned back to Genesis with an almost troubled look on his face. Genesis decided to ask him. 

"Sephiroth," he said. "Icarus seems… not entirely _there._ ” 

"From what I've observed so far, Icarus speaks exclusively in abstract vocabulary. Colors seem to be his preference.” Sephiroth picked up the folder, considered it in his hand for a second, then put it back down and took a seat behind his desk. “Hojo believes it nonsense." 

"But… you don't believe that's the case?" Genesis dropped down into the guest chair with a flourish, crossing his legs over the knee. 

“"I have reason to suspect that his words do have some sort of meaning to them. I just have to search for it.” He hesitates, then in a lower tone that could almost be called _fervent_ , confesses, “He's––he’s special, Genesis. It wouldn't make sense to simply dismiss what he says.” 

“Why wouldn't it? It sounds like gibberish.” 

“Because… what if it's important? He has this power that has never been seen before, not in all of human history. What if the things that he says are no different?” 

"Hmph." Genesis acknowledged, then quoted, _"When the war of the beasts brings about the world's end, The goddess descends from the sky, Wings of light and dark spread afar. She guides us to bliss, her gift everlasting."_

"LOVELESS, Prologue." Sephiroth raised an eyebrow. "Icarus is not the Goddess, Genesis. Nor is he an Ancient." Then he paused. "At least, it does not say that in Hojo's notes." 

_"The wind sails over the water's surface, Quietly, but surely."_

"Genesis. Stop that."


	3. Zack

> _“It is so rare in this world to meet a trustworthy person who truly wants to help you, and finding such a person can make you feel warm and safe, even if you are in the middle of a windy valley high up in the mountains.”_  
>  ––Lemony Snicket 

* * *

When Icarus met Zack, the first thing Icarus said was to never lose the purple he had in his heart. 

"Never," Icarus told him fiercely, staring up into Zack's blue eyes and looking more lucid than Angeal and Genesis had ever seen him in their short time of knowing the boy. "It's what makes you glow so much, like the sun. It's very powerful, your dioxazine purple. It even drives out some of the periwinkle you see in other people." 

"Uhhh." Looking a bit unsure, Zack cast a glance at his mentor and, upon receiving a shrug, figured it was normal for the boy and went along with it. "Periwinkle?" He asked finally, tilting his head. 

Icarus nodded, a little frown creased between his pale eyebrows. "Not as nice as it sounds. Much too pale, too shy, and quiet." 

"Huh. Okay, then I'll take your word for it," Zack laughed, absently scratching the back of his head. As confusing as Icarus's words were, it was kind of cute. Actually, he smiled down at him, doing a once-over, the boy was just way too adorable! 

So adorable, in fact, he decided that it would be a crime not to give him a hug. Nobody hated hugs. They were good for everyone. 

_Yeah, hugs for everyone!_

Icarus made a little surprised noise when Zack scooped him up into his arms, being a little surprised himself when he found out just how light the boy was. Zack made a note of it, then gave him a little squeeze, twice as gentle than the ones he would have given to other people. After he did so, Icarus gave him a silent look, still dangling two feet off the floor. 

"Hi, I'm Zack!" Then he instantly got distracted by Icarus's hair. “Oh my god you're so _fluffy._ ” 

“Uh?” Icarus seemed somewhat caught off guard by Zack's easily excitable nature. He looked even more bewildered when the teen stuck his nose into his hair and nuzzled it, like he was a stuffed animal. 

As Genesis fought the sudden overwhelming urge to smile and coo like an idiot at the boy, Angeal just barely managed to stop his usual habit of dropping his head into his hand (it always seemed to show up more whenever Zack was near, for whatever reason). “Puppy,” he sighed, exasperated but still fond. 

“Oh. Er. Sorry,” Zack set Icarus down on the ground again. He beamed with the power of the sun and tapped Icarus's nose lightly, making the boy wrinkle his nose afterwards. “So what's your name? I’m Zack!” 

“Hello Zack,” Icarus seemed to be still trying to figure out just what exactly the other teen had done to his nose as he answered, “I am Icarus.” 

"Zack," Angeal spoke up. Zack's head whipped around to attention. "We need to buy some clothes for Icarus. I have a class to supervise in ten minutes, so will you…" 

"Shopping!" Zack lit up like a lightbulb.

* * *

After shopping (in which Sephiroth will discover a large pile of bags at his door when he returned to his apartment that evening) and getting Icarus to change into a different outfit, Zack took him to the cadet floor (after all, didn't that wrinkly sleazebag professor say something about more human interaction?)

It was downtime, just after a long afternoon of lectures and tedious training, and the cadets were lounging around, having nothing to do in the meantime. Some were working out, others were studying; but they all greeted Zack with a salute, and then a warm hello. Zack was easy and casual to everyone, returning every greeting with a happy smile of his own even as he led Icarus steadily through the hallways. 

Icarus marveled openly up at Zack, not appearing to be aware of all the curious looks he was receiving from the cadets, being pulled by the hand. “Such a powerful color,” he said distantly. “Like a plum, or the beats of a healthy heart. Where does it all come from?” 

Zack ruffled his hair fondly. He had a sad feeling that he was never going to understand the things that Icarus said. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Spike.” 

“Okay, Zack.”

‘Spike’ turned out to be in one of the gyms, quietly stretching with dumbbells in a corner away from the few people in the already near-empty gym. “Yo, Spike!” 

The head of blond hair jerked up at the call, and the young teen’s eyes widened. “Zack,” He put down the weights and sat up. “What are you doing here?” 

“Aw, come on, can’t a guy see his friend sometimes?” Zack reached over and ruffled his sweaty hair roughly, earning a scowl directed at him. He grinned. “Anyway, I wanted to introduce you guys to each other. Icarus, this is Cloud, Cloud this is Icarus.” 

Icarus smiled dreamily. “I like the blue that you have. It’s very nice.” 

Cloud stares at the boy for a second, then shrugs, “Hi, Icarus,” then to Zack he murmurs, “What the hell is he talking about? I’m not wearing anything blue.” 

“It’s what I like to call Icarus-speak. It’s pretty awesome,” Zack whispers back, loudly and not really explaining anything. 

Meanwhile, Icarus seemed to have paid no attention to the two’s side conversation in front of him, and continued to peer up at Cloud very intently. “You’re touched by a lot of blue, I think it’s pretty.” He squinted, appearing to be in deep thought. “Still, there's a little too much blue to become green like the others. It’s because that shade of cobalt doesn’t like to change––it’s a very stubborn thing, you know? But it's also a patient color, and it always finds a way if you're determined enough. I don’t think you’d like what you would become anyway.” 

It was silent for an odd moment after Icarus finished talking; Cloud and Zack both staring at Icarus dumbfoundedly, the boy now appearing to have lost interest in them and got distracted by the mirrors that lined one of the walls of the training room. 

“That sounded vaguely ominous,” commented Cloud, a little wide-eyed. 

Zack nodded enthusiastically, not at all catching on to the semi-solemn mood. “I wish I had a translator. Icarus has a way with his words. Sephiroth thinks there’s something to it, so we’re trying to keep a record of it as much as we can, but so far we can’t make sense of any of it,” he says, then looks at Cloud. “Well, don’t let it get to you all that much. The SOLDIER exams are coming up, right? How’s it going with that?” 

At the mention of the exams Cloud seems to instantly deflate. “Bad.” he groans quietly. “I’m nowhere near ready. I’m still last in class. And worse, I got night duty this week.” 

“Again? Who’d you piss off this time?” 

“A couple of assholes. Instructors like them more than they like me.” Cloud shrugged. “Same old.” 

“Those idiots! I freaking swear, I’ll––” 

“Stay out of it. You promised, remember? I can’t keep hiding behind you for every problem I have.” 

The look Zack gives Cloud is entirely ignored. “Well,” Zack sighed. He slid a hand across the back of his neck. “Tell me if you get any free time. Maybe we can squeeze in a couple extra training sessions before the exams.” 

Cloud smiles, close-lipped and reserved, but prickly shields disabled just for that moment, just for Zack. “I will. Thanks.” 

“No problem!”

* * *

“I liked the spiky blue one,” says Icarus as he was once again being led by the hand back to Sephiroth's apartment. The boy didn't appear to mind, though. 

“Oh, you mean Cloud?” Zack grinned. “Glad you do, little bud. Spike doesn't normally like new people all that much. Like, he's the kind of person who at first comes off as a stoic, unapproachable jerk, but he's actually just a shy dork who has no idea how to handle social situations. He reminds me a lot like Seph, actually.” 

Zack laughed a little bit, making Icarus giggle as well. Then his smile dimmed a bit, replaced by a quizzical quirk of the brow, and he looked down at Icarus, whose hand (gosh, it was tiny) he was holding in his own (giant in comparison, like he could snap all the bones in that little hand if he just squeezed only a bit harder––what a horrible thought). 

“Hey, Icarus?” 

“Hm?” The boy looked back up at Zack, the dazed look in those crazy magnolia magenta eyes never leaving. Zack wondered at them for a second. 

“What’d you mean about Spike being blue? And not liking what he’d become?” 

Icarus tilted his head, like a curious bird. To be honest, Zack didn’t have much hope for a straight answer, let alone an explanation. Everything that came out of Icarus’ mouth already sounded like pure bullshit to the unobservant mind. But Zack knew, just like Seph knew, that there was more. There’s got to be more. 

Anything that Icarus said was either filled with enough symbolic imagery to be a riddle of and in itself, or just outright sounded like a prophecy. Zack supposes it was because of those impressions that people don’t bother to ask Icarus himself what it all meant, because prophecies were typically something in fairy tales, where the hero was given a vague and unhelpful poem and was left to figure it all out on their own. In the stories, prophecies were never that easy. 

But to Zack’s surprise, he actually got an answer (or something close to one, at least). 

“The blue one was a fixer, once––like a bandage. You can't make it change colors, like green, but you can change the shape of it. Blue can be molded until it finally becomes the thing everyone needs, but even then it can’t fix everything. And blue can break if you try to change it too much,” Icarus said, very solemnly, and Zack can't help but focus all his attention on him. “But that was a time far away. The blue one doesn't have to change anymore. He's free, I think.” 

Then suddenly Icarus smiled, breaking out of that trancelike state he had fallen into in the middle of speaking (and consequently, Zack out of his), and he dashed forward to crash into Sephiroth, who just barely managed to stop himself reaching for his sword, only because the hands clutching his coat were so very small. 

“Icarus?” Sephiroth looked down in surprise. 

“My yellow!” exclaimed Icarus, beaming so happily and sweetly. He hugged the General around the waist and buried his face in his shirt. “I missed your yellow, Sephiroth. The gray is still there, and I think you really need to start looking at the weather now, but your yellow is still so strong! I'm glad.” 

“I…? Well––yes, thank you.” Placing a hand on Icarus's head, Sephiroth turned to Zack, “Thank you for taking care of him for the day.” 

Zack smiled, performing a lazy salute that was more like a wave of the hand. “No problem, Seph. I gotta dash now. Take care, you two! G’night!” 

“Good night, Zack.”


	4. Soldiers

> _“Adulthood is hell.”_  
>  ––H. P. Lovecraft

* * *

The SOLDIER division of Shrina’s military actually holds very few members. Only around eighty of them in all, in fact. An observer might even say it was barely enough to be called a company, let alone a battalion. 

But then again, most people hadn’t seen what a Soldier can do on the battlefield. 

Because in reality, the largest battles of Shinra’s wars––back when they still had wars to wage––fought with thousands of each nation’s best; all the powerhouses and strongest fighters in one place, a couple of Soldier Firsts were all they had really needed to win. One Soldier was the essential equivalent of a one-man battalion, with all the force and power of a hundred unenhanced men. 

They weren’t called the elite for nothing, after all. 

(And Shinra said nothing about the SOLDIER mortality rate––not on the field, not in battle, but during the conversion process. The long and arduous process of introducing a human body to a toxic substance that never should have been put anywhere near their bloodstream. The wait period where they determine whether a candidate is susceptible to mutation or not, though by this time it should already be apparent; many, many failures had come out here. The surgery. The final stage. 

They don’t say anything about that in the promotions, the posters, the commercials on television, the recruitment ads that catered to young and so very impressionable teens––the most ideal conversion age was between 12 and 19 after all, where chances of success was highest. There are no warnings, no chances of knowing, and most don't find out until they're beyond the point of return. Company policy, company secrets. Those who don't obey will find themselves… _disappeared._ )

Now SOLDIER is little more than ornaments, decorations to attract young recruits to Shinra’s army in hopes that they’ll one day become just like the heroes they’ve always looked up to. The war with Wutai is predicted to be the last that Shinra will ever have to fight, since after Wutai there will be virtually nowhere on the planet that Shinra's reign doesn't reach. 

It isn't much of a surprise that the Soldiers think of themselves as something of a family––at least, the veterans certainly do. Those who survive for years in SOLDIER, who have been part of it long enough typically don't have family or people outside of the military (so they like to fancy their fellow Soldiers as family. It's a daydream. An indulgence. A hope.) 

And family had children. (Right?)

One of the biggest things they don't tell people about being a Mako-enhanced supersoldier is that it makes them sterile. 

It means they can't have kids anymore. 

That, out of everything else, seemed to have the most impact on the men who joined SOLDIER with no idea what they were really getting into. 

It's why the cadet division is always regarded with a mixture of fondness and horror for what's going to come for these _children_. Most of the Soldiers try their best to give the cadets good treatment––it also meant preparing them properly for the battlefield (for the table under the blade in the white room). 

So when Sephiroth began to show up to work with a young boy close at his heel, the Soldiers all became curious. 

Like a mother duck and her duckling, some of them said, with fond smiles and good natured chuckles. They’d never seen their General like this before, still in all his cold, unapproachable, regal glory, but all the sharp edges softened by the small white-haired boy following him around everywhere. It was a sweet sight. Cute. 

They learn that the boy’s name is Icarus, and that he is currently under Sephiroth's care for the time being. He's a charming one, if a bit odd––the strange things he sometimes says being one thing. 

But Icarus is also so unmistakably wild. Even washed and dressed, he wears his new t-shirts like he forgets they’re there and the rest of the time he’d walk around barefoot if no one was there to put the shoes on his feet. 

He moves like a careless wind––quietly, yet still with that tumbling childlike step in his pace. Icarus can freeze and hold so perfectly still that he turns into a statue, but his eyes are always moving, in constant motion, his angel wisp hair fluttering with the slightest change in air pressure. 

It’s so strange, how something like Icarus who's lived in a laboratory for all his life, who has probably never had the chance to see any real nature except for perhaps in pictures or books, can be so much like a little living, breathing force of nature. 

Sometimes he looks like an otherworldly fae creature accidentally clothed in jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. 

The more time everyone spends time with him the more they notice about Icarus that doesn't quite fit, that makes them question how Hojo could have possibly missed the signs. (He didn't, actually. Nearly nothing escapes that man’s notice, but some things are simply more important than others.)

* * *

On the day of the SOLDIER Exam, the hallways were filled with cadets so nervous it spilled over and stained the walls pink. 

It was no secret that while the SOLDIER cadet program had an 87% acceptance rate, only approximately 23% of that made it through to the actual division. (And of that, a measly 7% survive the conversion process. But they don’t tell you that.) 

The legendary difficulty of passing the exams, however, only made the prospect more appealing. 

(There’s another reason why the exams are so difficult to pass––other than making the qualifications and passing every test. Shinra left most of the examiners and judges to be determined by the SOLDIER division itself, and the department took full advantage of that, making most of the them either active Soldiers or those who had retired and worked as instructors for the cadet program. 

This had made it so the bare minimum amount of people could pass, as little as they can make it without the company complaining about it, without the fact being obvious that they were trying to protect the cadets from the horrors of being an actual SOLDIER.) 

In the bi-annual spring SOLDIER exam, 43 cadets pass. 

Cloud Strife was not one of them. 

“It isn’t that big of a surprise, I guess.” Cloud mutters. Everyone else in his barrack had gone to dinner in the cafeterias, but Cloud couldn’t seem to find his appetite. There wasn’t really much of Shinra’s cafeteria food to be appetizing about, anyway. “I was always the runt of the litter from start to finish, what was I thinking when I thought I had a chance of passing?” 

Sitting on the bunk next to him, Zack made a face. He doesn’t want to admit that a part of him had been genuinely happy that Cloud had failed. But another part of him also can’t stand the dejected look of failure written all over Cloud’s face. 

So young, he thinks, a bit in marvel, a little bit sad. He spends a few seconds studying those baby-fat cheeks, the blue eyes that still seem too big on that dainty face, pale skin that’s smooth and unmarred and free from any scars, stubble, or anything that could even hint of something grown up in his friend. No, Cloud was just fourteen. He had such a long life ahead of him. So many things he hadn’t had the chance to experience yet. He doesn’t deserve what the mako will do to him. 

Zack knows that he’s being a bit of a hypocrite when he thinks this, when he himself is only two years older than Cloud. But after the mako, after being in SOLDIER for just nearly two years, it felt like he’d aged fives times more than that. Zack feels too old for his skin, and he hates the thought of doing that to Cloud. There aren’t many things he hates, but this just so happens to be one of them. 

“Cloud…” he starts, thinks about the crushed look on Cloud’s face, remembers the agony of the mako conversion, the terror of being helpless and vulnerable and all too aware strapped to that cold table in a room too full with white. He thinks about telling Cloud. He grits his teeth. “You know, there’s always the fall exam. It’s not the end just yet.” 

“What if I fail that one too?” Cloud sounds so sad, so resigned (so young). “Do I just keep going saying it’s not the end, keep wasting my life away in the cadet program, keep failing every exam?” He runs a hand over his face, keeps it in place so it covers his eyes, and the corners of his mouth turn down, but through bullheaded stubbornness he manages to keep his voice steady. “I know I can just join the infantry now, I’ve got the option. Start earning a wage and actually start doing things instead of staying in one place like this but––” 

To Cloud’s horror, his voice falters, then breaks. “But––that––” He hates this. How weak he is. “––that’s the worst. Do you know how fucking disappointing that’ll be? I’ve already realized I’m weak. I’m small. I’m dumb. I’m shit at everything. But to accept that? Become some cannon fodder foot soldier nobody gives a shit about, my life’s full potential capped at a thirty grand yearly salary, a military bunker shared with nine other guys, cafeteria food, sentry duty, cleaning monster guts off the bottom of my boots. That’s the worst. I couldn't stand it. A life like that. A life of an ordinary cockroach whose biggest value to the world is to stand at a door.” 

Suddenly there’s arms around him and warm breath in his hair and Cloud realises he’s crying, shaking in Zack’s arms as he buries his face into Zack’s shirt. Zack makes some shushing noises, also a little bit of cooing, rubs circles into his back, and it’s kind of ridiculous how easily he’s able to handle someone crying into his shoulder so well, like he’s done it a hundred times before. Maybe he had. Zack’s one of the few people on earth with enough heart to do that. 

“Shh, Cloud,” Zack says softly, brushing the hair out of Cloud’s face, tucking the blond locks behind his ears only for them to spring back out again. He smiles fondly. “Shh. It’s okay. I’m here for you. I promised, remember? We’re gonna get through this together, no matter what you decide to do.” 

It’s a while before Cloud calms down, stops hiccupping and sniffling. Zack had grabbed a box of tissues and Cloud wipes away his tears roughly, blows his nose red. The clock showed it was getting near to the end of dinner time, meaning people would start returning to the barracks soon enough. Cloud groans, not wanting people to see that he’d been crying. He feels pathetic. 

“Sorry, Zack.” Cloud pulls away, sniffles, and wipes his nose on the back of his hand. He slumps down. Damn it. “I feel like shit.” 

Zack looks at him, looks at the clock, then smiles. “Let’s go somewhere else,” he says, and jumps to his feet. 

“Go where?” 

Zack grabs Cloud by the hands and pulls him up effortlessly. Cloud flops around unsteadily on his feet but remains standing. “We’re gonna go to the roof,” Zack says. “It’s the perfect time for that.” 

“Huh? Why?” 

“You’ll see when we get there. It’s a surprise. Now let’s go before we miss it!” 

“Miss what?” 

But Zack was already off, dragging Cloud behind him in a mad dash for the staircase.

* * *

The sky is green when they finally get to the rooftop. Cloud freezes, staring transfixed up at the warping, shifting hues of green mako lights in the night sky distance. He breathes in the air around in, far too high for the city smog to reach and thin as the air in the mountains of his home village. 

“Wow…” he says, breathless. The Midgar he’d seen so far had been gray, smudgy, polluted with filth even on the upper plate. He’d never thought to go higher than that, though. 

“Beautiful, right?” Zack grins. “I found this place when I was a cadet, never got disturbed by anyone here since. I guess no one ever thought the air would be breathable all the way up here.” 

Cloud walks past him and continues up until the toes of his boots touched the edge of the roof. The breath hitches in Zack’s throat for a terrible moment until Cloud takes a seat on the edge, feet dangling over. He looks back at Zack, leaning back on one hand. “I used to do this all the time when I was a kid,” he tells him. “Just go into the mountains and climb until everything below me were just tiny little specks in the distance. I’d sit at the edge of a cliff, look down at my tiny village on the ground and feel invincible.” 

Zack comes over and settles down beside Cloud. “Sounds fun,” he says, the casual tone in his voice belying how his eyes are ever attentive, sharp as an eagle to every move his friend makes (always ready to catch him if he ever falls). 

“Yeah.” 

There’s a long, drawn-out silence that stretches in between them as they both stare out into the distance at the green lights dancing across the night sky. 

“Say, Cloud,” Zack suddenly says. “What exactly do you want to do?” 

“Say what?” 

“Like, why do you wanna be in SOLDIER so much? What do you think you're going to do in there?” 

Cloud stares at Zack weirdly for a long time, unused to this side of Zack––usual grin absent, his face all solemn and fingers going circles around each other. He’s thinking. No. Zack is conflicted. About what? Cloud can’t think of anything someone like Zack could ever be uncertain about. 

“I… I want to be stronger,” says Cloud, but it comes out like a question. “No. Actually––” He retraces his thoughts, reconsiders as Zack waits patiently for his answer. A lot of things go through his mind. _I want to be cooler like Sephiroth. I want to be a hero. I want to prove them wrong, each and every person who’s ever talked shit to me for being weak._

_I want to become someone my mom can actually be proud of._

“I want to be able to _do_ things,” is what he finally settles on. At Zack’s look of confusion, he goes on to explain, “Back in Nibelheim my mom and I were always the outcasts, shunned and pushed to the outskirts of the village where we could never get enough food for the winter, never get warm enough at night, never able to live without making the best of what we got in life. And we couldn't do anything about it. My mom tried to. She got the shit beaten out of her. I was too weak to do anything. I hated it. You know the feeling, Zack? Always feeling helpless and unable to fight back? You probably don't. Nevermind.” 

(Zack hid a wan smile, knowing exactly how it felt, but unwilling to refute Cloud’s words.)

“Even in the cadet program I see these things happening. People like me who are maybe a little bit more timid, a little scrawnier than normal, getting picked on by the ones who are bigger and meaner. People getting hazed for no reason at all other than that they chose the wrong friend circle to get mixed up with. I was no exception, of course. In fact, I think I was everyone's favorite. It's fucking hard, you know, to keep living like this. Like a goddamn cockroach that everyone likes crushing under their heel a little more every day. 

“The SOLDIER division seems like a place where that doesn't happen. I’m friends with you and I’ve met Kunsel too, and I’ve seen other SOLDIERs talking, interacting with each other a couple times. It looks nice. I get the feeling of a big family from you guys. I want to be a part of that too. I want to be strong enough to be able to stop other people from going through what I’ve been through.” 

Zack's quiet for a moment, contemplating, then he asks, “What if there's a price, though? Like, a really big, really steep price that will affect you for the rest of your life. Would you still want to join even then?” 

“What are you talking about, Zack?” 

“Like…” Zack bites his lip, looks around as if afraid someone might be listening in on their conversation all the way up on the roof of the Shinra military headquarters. “Listen, Cloud. I'm not supposed to tell you this. No one’s supposed to tell anyone. It's against company contract. If they find out…” he shook his head. “No, I can't. Sorry.” 

“What, Zack?” Cloud urges him. He turns around, puts a hand on Zack’s shoulder when the older teen turns away. “What? You can’t just leave it like that. Screw the rules, man. Tell me!” 

Zack refuses to meet his eye. “All I can tell you is… there’s a lot of things they don’t tell you about being a SOLDIER. It changes you. Not just the super strength and advanced healing and stuff. There's a price to pay for it.”

“I know.” 

“Huh?” Zack startles, looks up in surprise. 

“It's not that hard to figure out, once you spend enough time listening to and watching the SOLDIERs. I don't know how no one else hasn't found out either, but I guess they all have better things to do with their time. Never told anyone about it though. I figured it wasn’t smart to go around spreading the info. Not like I have anyone to tell it to, anyway.” Cloud shrugs. “No one ever mentions the conversion process. Nothing specific, anyway. You guys all clam up real tight as soon as it comes up in any context. And no one can find anything through a surface search on the net either, but that can be easily explained away with company secrets and policy and all that. 

“But after a while it just got weird to me. You always flirt with girls but you never actually do anything. I’ve never heard any SOLDIER talk about their own family except for maybe their parents, siblings, uncles, cousins, whatever. No wife or husband, no children. Sometimes a girlfriend, maybe, but only for a short time. 

“At first I thought it was about being professional, but that didn't make any sense with personalities like you in SOLDIER. So I went digging. Did some research on the net and found out the risks of mako and what it does to you. Everything was on really back-door sites, though––articles, studies, and reports from professors and doctors no one’s ever heard of, so I doubted the authenticity of it for a while. Maybe because of Shinra covering things up, now that I think about it. But after seeing you act like this, my suspicions are more or less confirmed.” 

“Cloud…you––” Zack shook his head disbelievingly. “Damn, how are you still last in class? You just figured that all out through simple observation? That's freaking amazing.” 

“It's nothing really. I'm just good at watching and listening to people. It's creepy if you think about it. The tests they give in class doesn't really measure that either. The most part of it is memorization, and I have a shit memory.” 

“So even after knowing about all that, you still want to become SOLDIER that bad, huh?” 

Cloud’s silent for a second. “Yeah.” He nods, as if to himself, them says, more firmly. “Yeah. I’m sure. I’ve spent time thinking about it. It's worth it, to me.” 

“The blue is turning!” 

The two teen jump at the sudden exclamation that came from behind them. Zack grabs Cloud’s shirt just in case, head whipping around and eyes widening at the sight of Icarus there, standing barefoot on the roof, wisp white hair whipping around in the wind. 

“Icarus…what––when did you get here?” Zack jumps up after making sure Cloud was okay, kneeling in front of the boy to ask, “Where's Gen? I thought you were with him.” 

“The blue was changing,” says Icarus seriously. “I had to make sure he didn't go red.” 

“The blue. You mean me, right? I’m the blue one?” Cloud comes over, confused. “What's wrong with red?” 

“Not just red. The dark kind. It's an angry one, silent, full of bitter things. Doesn't like others, but most of all doesn't like itself.” Icarus shakes his head. “I think it's sad.” 

He reaches out and tugs on Cloud by the sleeve, staring up at the blond with intense magenta eyes. “Be softer with you,” he tells Cloud. “You are a breathing thing. A memory to someone. A home to a life. Give yourself seconds and second chances.” 

Cloud looks at Icarus with something startled on his face, like he's never heard anything like that said to him. “I…” How does this boy who he barely knows, has only seen on a passing basis whenever Zack comes by with him, knows exactly what to say to him at exactly the right time? Not empty words either. It’s so genuine. It takes his breath away. “I will, Icarus. Thanks.” 

Suddenly there’s footsteps thundering up the stairs, a rush of movement heading up towards them fast, then–– 

“Icarus! Your shoes!” Genesis comes bursting through the rooftop entrance door, looking frazzled and frayed at the ends, a pair of shoes in one hand. He stops in his tracks when he sees everyone. “What are you all doing up here?” 

“Just hanging out, enjoying the view and all that,” Zack says, slipping back to his easy grin and casual disposition. “How’d Icarus slip your watch? Because that’s pretty impressive.” 

Genesis sighs in aggravation. “I haven’t the slightest idea. He just disappeared suddenly when I had my attention on something else, and I had to go on a merry little goose chase around Shinra HQ to find the brat. It was bizarre. Speaking of which...” He turns his ire on the boy in question standing patiently next to him, “Your shoes, Icarus. Put them on, now, before you hurt yourself stepping on something unpleasant.” 

Icarus looks down at his feet in surprise, as if noticing just now that he was wearing only socks. “I don’t like them,” he says quietly. “Much too heavy, too grounding.” He looks up timidly at Genesis. “Do I have too?” 

Confronted by the look on Icarus’s face, so mournful and disappointed, Genesis finds all his irritation gone like so much dust in the wind. He huffs out a sigh, flicks the hair out of his face. “Fine. I suppose you don’t. Now come here, little one.” 

He bends down, and seeing it, Icarus reaches up towards him with arms outstretched, odd magenta eyes wide and looking so young and so innocent in that moment that Genesis can’t help but smile a little as he picks the boy clean off the ground and props him on a hip. It takes little to no effort to do so, the boy being so light that Genesis had a moment of irrational fear that he would’ve been blown right off the edge of the rooftop if he didn’t have a secure hold on him. The boy didn’t look underweight or unhealthy, but Genesis fretted a little still. 

With Icarus in his arms, he turns to the two teens, finding Zack muffling hysterical laughter into one hand and another unknown blond teenager looking at him with wide blue eyes. “Oh, shut it, Zack.” 

“Oh my gosh,” Zack wheezes. “Icarus’s got you whipped good, doesn’t he?” 

“Well, he’s more charming than you at the very least,” retorts Genesis without any real fire. His amber gaze flicks over to the blond standing next to Zack. “You must be the one that Zack always talks about.” 

Cloud jumps a bit, not expecting to actually be acknowledged, much less recognized. He knows who’s standing in front of him, recognizes the man from the posters and advertisements, from brief glimpses in the hallways and from the rumors passed around the cadets about Genesis Rhapsodos’ legendary temper. He’d never thought he would meet the man himself so soon, in such close proximity. 

Of course, Cloud’s heard the gossip, the stories that weren’t much fiction, about the most short-fused member of the Holy Trinity, the man’s penchant for threatening to Fireball cadets to death if they ever had the misfortune to incur his wrath. SOLDIER’s very own boogeyman. 

Just––it’s different from what he’d expected. Because Commander Genesis on his own is a hot powder keg ready to go off any second. But Commander Genesis smiling fondly at a young boy propped on his hip and trading verbal fire with his best friend is… well. Different. But no less intimidating. 

“Yep, here’s Spike!” Zack slings an arm over his friend’s shoulders. “He’s my best friend.” 

Cloud looks up nervously at the tall redhead. “Cloud Strife, sir.” he salutes. “Er, Zack talks about me a lot?” 

“Oh, you have no idea.” Genesis says, rolling his eyes. “There are ever only two people he can prattle on and on about, and one of them, if I do recall, is the ‘little chocobo’. I see what he means now.” 

Cloud resisted the sudden urge to flatten the abominable blond spikes that plagued had him all his life. Curse Zack for spreading that nickname around. 

“What’s your assignment?” 

“I’m a cadet in the SOLDIER division, sir.” 

“A cadet, hm?” Genesis raises an eyebrow. “Then you must have taken the exams this past week.” 

“I did, sir.” Cloud gets a little embarrassed, a little ashamed. Goddammit. “I, uh, didn’t get in.” 

Genesis scrutinizes the short blond for a second, before saying, “Well, don’t get too depressed on yourself, cadet. Only the top twenty-six percent pass, and very few on their first try. Train hard and have another go in the fall.” 

Hearing encouragement from such a recognized figure in the department lifted Cloud’s spirits a bit. He gave a little shy smile, saluting more confidently. “Yes sir! Thank you, sir.” 

Genesis stares at him for a bit longer, face inscrutable, shifting Icarus in his arms absentmindedly when the boy decided to take an interest in his hair. After a while, he seems to conclude his thoughts with a succinct, “Hm.” 

“The night draws near, and Icarus should be in bed soon,” Genesis says, and turns to leave. “Zack, come, walk with me.” 

“Be there in a sec,” Zack turns to Cloud, smiling. “You’ll be fine going back by yourself, right? I’ll come by tomorrow, see if we can work out a solid schedule for those extra practices.” 

Cloud looks surprised. “Practice? But you’re busy too––” 

“Nah, it’s no problem! We’re gonna get you into SOLDIER, don’t worry. Because that’s your dream, right?” 

“I––” Cloud hesitates, then smiles softly. “Alright. I won’t disappoint you.” 

“That’s my man.” Zack holds out a fist, and the two bumped fists. Zack grinned. “Welp, gotta blast. Can’t have Gen waiting too long, right?” 

“Yeah. See you later then, Zack.” 

“See you, Spike! Good night!” Then Zack’s off, disappearing into the building after Genesis, who had already gone ahead of him. 

It’s only when they’re on the SOLDIER housing levels, after getting off the elevator, that Zack speaks up. 

“Gen,” Zack says quietly. When the man looks to him, giving him his full attention, he whispers, even quietly, “He knows, Gen.” 

Genesis blinks in surprise, seems to reconsider the cadet named Cloud Strife in a different light. “How?” 

Zack grins. “Just from simple observation––listening and watching us, gathering enough info to make him do some research online and connect the dots. Can you believe that? No one else’s has been able to do that. Like, ever. It’s brilliant. 

“Quite brilliant indeed,” Genesis murmurs. “And his path hasn’t changed?” 

“Nope. He’s pretty determined.” 

“Let’s see where that determination gets him.” Genesis doesn’t look optimistic, probably thinking of the numbers, the statistics that aren’t favorable at all in terms of the graduating cadets’ survival. 

“The blue’s turning silver!” 

They both start, Genesis especially, because the young voice had come from right beside his ear. Icarus looks at them excitedly, alert in Genesis’s arms. “Silver is nice,” the boy says. “Pretty. Flexible and clever and quiet but… there. A strong presence. It’s a good one for our piece of sky.” 

It’s silent for a moment, as the two digest these cryptic words. Then Zack suddenly laughs, bright and light, “Well, if Icarus’s so confident in Spike, I guess we have nothing to fear, huh?” 

They’ve just arrived at Sephiroth’s apartment, and Genesis sets Icarus down carefully. He rufflles the boy’s hair fondly. “I suppose there’s something we’re missing that only you know, little one. Perhaps that faith will be useful to us all.” 

“I believe in the blue-silver one,” Icarus insists. He tugs on Genesis’s sleeve, which would have irritated the man if it were any other person than the boy looking up at Genesis with something so fierce in his young features, “I believe in all of you. You just have to believe, too.” 

Then the door opens and there’s Sephiroth standing at the door, and Icarus turns around, eyes losing that ferocious fire in them and returning to the happy, cheerful youth they usually see, giving the tall man a great big hug, then disappearing into the apartment. Sephiroth looks curiously at Genesis and Zack. “I didn’t hear much, but it was enough,” he tells them. 

Genesis shakes his head. “Our little one is a mystery to us all. Perhaps in time, we will be able to understand him fully.” 

They think about the things they’ve already heard from Icarus, thinks about the record they’ve all been adding to of Icarus’s prophetic-like sayings. Hojo might have dismissed it, but they certainly won’t. Icarus is something special, they’re all sure of that now. 

_(Perhaps in time.)_


	5. Connection

> _“Everyone, at some point in their lives, wakes up in the middle of the night with the feeling that they are all alone in the world, and that nobody loves them now and that nobody will ever love them, and that they will never have a decent night’s sleep again and they will spend their lives wandering blearily around a loveless landscape, hoping desperately that their circumstances will improve, but suspecting, in their heart of hearts, that they will remain unloved forever.”_  
>  ––Lemony Snicket  
> 

* * *

It's strange, having to take care of Icarus. 

Not because of the boy, but rather the concept of having another living being so near to him at nearly all times of the day. 

Sharing meals with him, going down to the laboratories with him when Hojo calls, sharing living space with him, sleeping in the same apartment––Sephiroth has never had so much human interaction before. Not like this, not even on the battlefield. He doesn't really know what to do with himself. 

Sephiroth has grown up having every single detail of his life dictated by others. ( _Sit up straighter. Keep your chin down. Your shoulders are off by three degrees. Straighten your uniform. Raise your sword two-point-five centimeters higher. Yes, this is the correct position. This serum will increase the flexibility of your tendons by six percent. Do not flinch away again._ ) 

He’s lived all his life in a decorated fish tank, everything regulated, everything provided, never questioning his purpose or the ones giving him orders. Everything had been simply how it is. His name is Sephiroth, Professor Hojo’s prized possession, an asset in the possession of the Shinra company. The food he ate, the lessons he received, even the clothes he wore had been carefully arranged and nearly scripted by others. 

And then. 

And then Genesis and Angeal came along. They invaded that perfect world of sterile order without any thought of even knocking on the door and turned it upside its head, inside out. 

They’d grabbed him and pulled him forward, dragged him off the rigid path had been always set for him before his birth, and sideways, into the foreign world of insecurity and novel wonders. And, thrown off his guard by his incredulous amazement of having _companions_ , friends, of having people and peers, who approached him without fear––he couldn't do anything but let them change everything he'd ever known. 

They took apart his carefully constructed world of order piece by piece, filled the empty spaces with previously unknown waters; unexplored, unusual, and frighteningly beautiful. Sweets and games and movies and music. Hugs, warm and strange inside a tent of unfamiliar Wutai––so foreign to positive human interaction was he back then that he’d first thought it was an attempt on his life. Ditching class to watch the green mako lights in the distance from the roof of the company tower, the air thin and far too high for the smog to reach them. 

They showed him what the golden things were in life (friendship, loyalty, devotion, love), introduced him to a world he never knew before. 

And yet, he still has trouble with the commands programmed into him from his childhood.

* * *

One night, Sephiroth has a nightmare. 

(He hasn’t gotten one of those since the war ended. It was weird even for his standards, terrifying and horrible all at once). 

When he wakes up, sweaty and limbs in a panic and gasping for air, the first thing he feels is a hand on his cheek. 

_THREAT_ , his brain screams at him––blinded by flashes of metal and electric green and blue eyes full of hatred and a woman's screams still ringing in his ears even though he has no idea what any of these are––and he doesn't hesitate. 

There's a scuffle, a rush of motion as he immobilized the perpetrator’s limbs––then a gasp of pain, so small and quiet he almost didn’t catch it through the haze of panic. Sephiroth freezes. The images vanish and his mind clears. He makes contact with magenta eyes, wide staring up at him and faintly glowing in the dark. 

“Icarus,” Sephiroth breathed in horror, strands of silver hair falling over his face and pooling around the boy’s head as he loomed over him. He reared back, snatching his hands away from those slender limbs and nearly falling over in his haste to get away from the child. 

He’d almost–– 

He tried to stop there, unable to bear finishing the thought. But the awful whisper still came, deep in his mind–– _broken him. You had almost broken him._

A hand catches the edge of his shirt when he moves to pull back, and Icarus says, “Don't go.” 

Sephiroth looks back at the boy with something terrible on his face. “I… have to,” he utters, “I can’t––” 

The mako in his blood made his eyes glow and gives him better night vision than the nocturnal owl. It's with this that he’s able to see the bruises already forming on Icarus’ arms and wrists, dark marks stark against that soft pale flesh, that are the exact size of his fingers. The sight makes his stomach churn. 

He looks down at those hands gripping tightly onto the helm of his shirt. So small. Those wrists, so thin and fragile looking, so easily _breakable_. 

It would only take a fraction of a percent of his full strength to snap one of those thin bird-bones. A simple twist as he pinches them between thumb and forefinger, a little more and the boy might never have use of his hands again. 

Sephiroth’s gaze trails over that pale throat ( _arteria carotis columnis; if severed, victim will fall unconscious immediately from rapid drop in blood pressure, impending death by exsanguination within two to three minutes_ ), leading around to his neck ( _a simple snap of the spine, short, painless and final_ ), down to the chest ( _sharp object of relative thinness, between the gap of the fourth and fifth rib, entering through the cardiac notch of the left lung_ )––up––( _a slap on both ears simultaneously causing a rupture in ear drums leading to a brain aneurism that can be fatal_ )––up––( _a hand firmly pressed over nose and mouth, set-in of suffocation depends on victim’s heart rate and general––_ ) ( _––general––_ )

It's not until he becomes aware of the gentle arms wrapped around his head that he realized he was breathing far too quickly, tremors running throughout his body, his heartbeat stuttering in his chest. Icarus's fingers card through his long hair, as the boy holds him as well as he can with the size difference, with Sephiroth bent over on his knees with his face pressed into Icarus's neck. 

“Stay, my yellow,” Icarus was saying, so very softly, like a gentle wind. “The false angel is going away now. You're safe here, with your suns and moons. They are here, and you should stay.” 

Helpless, Sephiroth nuzzles a bit closer, breathing in deep the scent of something alive, so warm and vibrant and brilliant, nothing like the awful sharp, bitter hollowness of cold abandonment he remembers in his dream. 

Slowly his hands rise from clutching the sheets that had fallen with them on the floor, and he brought up to place them lightly on Icarus's back, just barely touching, so hesitant. Icarus made a dissatisfied noise, and hugged his head tighter. “I’m not going to break, yellow,” he said. “Your hands are not made for breaking.” 

“How can you say that?” Sephiroth asks, whispers. Memories of years spent in war come readily to his mind––memories of constant battle, constant pain and cold steel, constant death and screams and blood on his blade, that only grew more and more brutal the longer he fought. Of the stench of iron that had twisted itself into his very skin and his clothes permanently stained with dirt and blood and despair. Of the battlefield, terrible but familiar nonetheless, with its charred craters and smoke billowing steadily into the blackened sky. 

And the bodies––scattered and strewn everywhere around him like cheap confetti, cut down by his Masamune in large heaving swathes, bodies piled up high on top of each other; innumerable broken bodies continuing on into the horizon, armor charred and burnt, still holding their weapons with limp fingers even in death. 

“How can you say that, when my very existence itself was designed for nothing but destruction?” He thinks of the blood of thousands on his hands, the gross stench of death and gore and senseless destruction. Everything jumbled together into this large meaningless mess of violence and steel and noise and pain. “You know nothing of me.” 

Then Icarus says, “You are a protector.” When Sephiroth jerks and looks at him with startled eyes, the boy continues on, “It is who you are, my yellow––what you are. Protecting others is wired into you. You are built for it.”

“That’s not pos––” 

“Yellow protects,” Icarus cuts him off, fierce and insistent. He grips Sephiroth’s shirt tightly when the man makes a move to turn away, not letting him ignore his words. “And very easy to adapt, so it can look like other things at the same time. But yellow is always a protector, no matter what other shades it's mixed with.” 

Sephiroth stares at Icarus, struck speechless and not knowing what to say to that. Icarus gets up and somehow manages to drag Sephiroth up to his feet as well, leading him back onto the bed. He arranges the covers around them in a sort of nest-like fashion, and sat cross legged in front of Sephiroth, who looks at him as if he doesn't know what to expect next. 

“Once upon a time there was a writer who set out on a mission to write the happiest novel that he possibly could.” Sephiroth blinks. Whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn't a bedtime story. 

“The result of this book was simply the word ‘bumblebee’ repeated one hundred thousand times. As the writer decided, nothing more effectively produced happiness than the look and feel and sound of that word, and the furry, flitting images that it conjured. 

“Sometimes the grey also comes for me. Bumblebees have always helped, though, and maybe they’ll work for you too.” 

Icarus smiles, distant and sweet and two worlds away. He lifts up his hands to touch Sephiroth on either side of his face, and Sephiroth can't do anything but stare at the boy with wide green eyes and helpless marvel.


	6. Peace

> _“It is a mistake to fancy that horror is associated inextricably with darkness, silence, and solitude.”_  
>  ––H.P. Lovecraft 

* * *

Sometimes, Sephiroth is gone for the nights, whether for missions or Hojo calling him down for some nonsensical task. On these, Icarus goes to Angeal’s apartment to stay for the night. 

It's a stark contrast from Sephiroth's spartan residence. Angeal’s abode is inexplicably full of life, where there's potted plants everywhere around in the kitchen, miraculously flourishing deep in the heart of Shinra incorporated, and signs of Zack scattered about here and there a bit; Angeal’s homely apartment that sometimes smells like apple pie because it was his mother’s personal recipe and Genesis’s favorite dessert. 

In the living room there is a large shelf full of books about gardening (Angeal’s weird gardening books, as Zack calls them, and never fails to make fun of them whenever he visits). One title reads, _How to Recreate the World in Seven Days. Other books read: The Art of War Against the Green Things; Strategy for the Moderately-Sized Succulent; The History of Ferns (exclusive limited edition); Once a Man, Always a Flower; Devices for the Dirt and Sun; A Book About Good Garden Management and Eliminating Enemies Efficiently._

But what Icarus likes the most about Angeal's apartment is the man himself. Angeal, for his calm and mild nature, the peaceful aura that's only belied by the air of command that surrounds him when on duty. But off duty, in his own environment and able to relax–– 

“Such a nice, rich green,” Icarus smiles dazedly, from his perch on the back of the couch and watching Angeal make dinner in the kitchen. 

“Sit properly, Icarus,” says Angeal. He glances back to make sure that Icarus actually did, but the boy seemed to be too preoccupied with the third button on his shirt to have heard. “Icarus.” 

“Yes, Angeal?” 

Icarus loses his intense focus on his shirt and looks up. But the line of his sight landed slightly above to the right of Angeal’s ear, magenta eyes wide and unfocused. 

The man sighs, setting down the ladle and wiping his hands. 

Sometimes Icarus gets like this, where his mind seemed to be a thousand worlds away, disconnected with the present happening around him. Angeal worries whenever this happens. These bouts of disassociation couldn’t be healthy. But then again, with his entire life spent in the labs with Hojo for company, who wouldn’t come out with a few issues? 

“Here we go,” Angeal murmurs, lifting Icarus up by under the arms, then carrying him easily to the kitchen island. With his enhanced strength, he barely felt the slight weight of the boy’s body, his muscles barely strain to lift him up. 

When Icarus is properly sat in one of the tall stools at the kitchen island (Angeal had learned, early on from careful observation, that Icarus favored high and elevated places), Angeal returned to finish up dinner. A few minutes pass by, silent but peaceful, with the soft sounds of domesticity breaking the atmosphere every now and then. 

“I wonder if Sephiroth be joining us for lunch tonight,” says Icarus suddenly, sounding a bit more lucid than before. 

“Dinner, Icarus, and yes, if he’s not held up by anything unexpected then we’ll be seeing him.” 

Icarus hummed contently, flicked at the petal of a fuzzy potted plant in middle of the table. “I hope he comes back really soon.” The words get a little muffled when he rests his chin on his folded arms on the island. Below him, his legs kick back and forth on the stool. 

“Do you miss Sephiroth?” asks Angeal. 

Icarus seems to take a moment to think about the question. “There was once a very wise person who said, ‘It’s always sad when someone leaves home, unless they are simply going around the corner and will return in a few minutes with ice cream sandwiches.’” 

“Ice cream sandwiches?” Angeal wonders where Icarus had heard of them, since ice cream was a popular street desert classic that had gone extinct along with the last of the dairy cows a few years back. 

“Sweet, creamy, filled with soft blues and gentle surprises,” Icarus tells him knowledgeably. “Good for your soul.” 

“I’ll take your word on it, then.” Angeal remembers ice cream. He’d sampled it, once or twice, when he was very young and when Genesis was in the mind of sharing, so very long ago he’d just about forgot all about it. But with Icarus’s reminder, he could almost imagine it again––the soft malt on his tongue, cold sweet melting in his mouth. It felt almost real.

* * *

It’s later on that evening, when everyone arrives, one by one, welcomed by a delighted Icarus and a gentle hug for each of them. Apparently Zack had taught him the concept of hugs and positive physical contact, and was trying to get him into the practice of applying it more to real life. 

“Hello, little one,” Genesis murmurs, placing a hand on the white fluff of Icarus’s hair. “How was your day?” 

“It was nice. I liked spending time with the green one. Your white seems to be undisturbed today as well. There’s still a bit of pink, but it hasn’t grown lately.” 

Zack is enthusiastic as always, lifting Icarus up and spinning him around in a circle, making the boy laugh out loud. And Sephiroth pats Icarus gently on the back, a fond half smile on his face and the stress on it when he first came in all but washed away upon Icarus throwing his arms around his waist. 

They’re all seated at the table and had just began dinner when Icarus who couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Zack and ignored every attempt to get him to eat, finally opens his mouth to ask, “Zack?” 

Zack looks over at Icarus, mouth stuffed unceremoniously with food, “Yeah?” 

“Where do you go when you disappear?” 

Zack finishes chewing, swallows, then asks, “Disappear?” 

Icarus nods. “You go far away. Bellow.” 

“I think he means the slums, Zack,” Genesis says. “Where you visit that girl of yours.” 

“Oh! Well, sometimes I leave Shinra headquarters to go visit Aerith in the slums,” Zack says. “But how’d you know that?” 

“It's your heart,” Icarus says, staring at a certain point on Zack’s chest like he sees something there, inside, through him. “You always come back with a little yellow in there.” 

Zack looks down at himself like he was trying to see what Icarus apparently saw in him, but there was nothing. “Huh,” he says. “I thought I was purple, and Seph was the yellow one.” 

Icarus frowns. “The yellow comes from somewhere else. It’s a different kind than Sephiroth’s, all swirly and gentle slopes and…” the boy trails off all of a sudden, staring into the distance with unfocused eyes, lips parted and mouth agape a little. 

“Icarus? Hey, Icarus?” Zack waves a hand in front of Icarus’s face but gets so response. Angeal and Genesis lean forward in concern. Sephiroth’s frowning, looming over the boy protectively. 

“Another one of his dissociative episodes,” Angeal murmurs darkly. 

It seems to take longer than usual for Icarus to recover this time, and when he does, it's slow and in gradual increments. 

“Hh…” Icarus blinks, looks around at them with wide magenta eyes as if he doesn't know how he’d gotten there. “Where's white? Ge…Genesis.” 

Frowning, Genesis reaches across the table to lay a hand on the boy’s smaller one. “I’m here, little one.” 

Icarus's head whips around suddenly at the sound of his voice, and Genesis finds his hand captured in a tight grasp. 

“Don't go,” Icarus says, so fierce yet there was no mistaking the grief in his voice. It was almost like he was pleading. “You can't. If you leave, then many people will follow, because you aren't Loveless but Beloved. But the most important ones will stay behind. They will be alone, and you will be alone, and the grey will become strong.” 

Genesis can't help but look startled, as did the others. They had no idea what brought this about. (Sephiroth remembers the words Icarus had said to him, nights ago, the same ones he’s using right now. _Don’t go._ Like Icarus was afraid.) 

“Alright, Icarus,” Genesis says, not knowing what else to do except to agree. Leave? He wasn’t going anywhere. Genesis runs through the itinerary of all the away-missions he might be assigned from the current log, and couldn’t find a single one. “I promise I won’t go anywhere.” 

“You promise?” Icarus looked even more intense at this, as if lives depended on this promise, the world depended on it. 

“Yes, I promise,” Genesis confirms, even though he still doesn’t know exactly what he was promising to… _not_ do. “Though may I ask why?” 

Icarus nodded slowly, releasing his grip on the man, as if satisfied with the response. “You burn hot. Like fire,” he tells him, not really answering his question. “Fire is precious, beautiful, wild. And dangerous. Sometimes it looks like a candle. Other times, it's hellfire. But I like the way you are right now. A bonfire. A hearth. People gather around you because you are the center.” 

“Sounds like Gen, alright,” Zack says, nodding along. “Only he doesn't attract people to him. They all run away because he has no social skills and looks mad all the time.” 

“Perhaps it is because I am surrounded by idiotic annoyances like you.” 

“I’m worried for your blood pressure, Gen.” 

Suddenly, Icarus laughs. They all stop, freeze in their seats, taken by surprise the light, airy charming laugh. None of them and resist a smile of their own from forming at the sight of it. Zack was full-blown grinning. Icarus looks so happy, so young and carefree. 

“Beloved,” Icarus says, smiling softly and looking at all of them so happily, like there was no other place he’d rather be than here, sitting at this table, in Angeal apartment with all of them there with him. “You are all beloved, and that will never change, no matter what can make you think otherwise.” 

His part said, Icarus blinks, looks down at the untouched plate of Angeal’s homemade set in front of him, picked up his fork and began to eat. 

“Say, Zack,” Angeal says once they resumed dinner. “The next time you visit Aerith, why don't you take Icarus with you? It would be a good opportunity for him to see places other than upper plate.” 

Zack chews thoughtfully for a second, then nods enthusiastically. “Good idea! The area around the church is pretty safe, and I bet Aerith’ll love to meet Icarus.”

* * *

> _“She needed a hero, so that’s what she became.”_  
>  ––Unknown  
> 

* * *

Aerith is, of course, delighted when Zack shows up at the church a week later with a little white-haired boy riding on his shoulders. 

“Hello, Icarus, it’s so good to finally meet you, Zack’s been telling me all about you.” Aerith bends a little, hands on her knees, smiling at Icarus after he’s been carefully set down on the ground. Zack, she thinks, despite his brash exterior, despite the countless rough edges and lackadaisical attitude, he’s the gentlest person she’s ever knew. 

Icarus stares back at her with open marvel. “The gate,” is what he whispers, before he breaks out into a smile. “I’ve found my gate again!” 

Aerith is surprised when the boy rushes forward to give her a big hug, but she laughs anyway. There are gloves on her hands, dirty and covered in dirt from the gardens, and she gingerly takes them off to hug Icarus back. Her white dress has mud and green stains in places, there’s a smudge of mud across her cheek, and despite the gloves that she wears, dirt still gets under her nails. Zack thinks she looks beautiful. 

“Hi Aerith,” he says, rubbing his neck and feeling a little bashful. “How’re things going? How’s Elmyra? Heard the flower business is going pretty well these days.” 

The girl beams up at him. “Mom’s been doing better, now that I’m helping out with my flower sales. I’m glad,” she glances down when Icarus releases her, and his head snaps toward the garden of flowers in the middle of the church, magenta gaze suddenly sharp as an eagle. “Do you want to see the flowers, Icarus?” 

Icarus looks back at her, nods eagerly. Giggling, Aerith takes his hand and leads them to the garden. “Look here,” she says, kneeling down and motioning to the boy, and shows him all the little pathways she’s made in the field of lilies over the years, hidden away and hard to notice unless pointed out, so that she could tend to the flowers without crushing any of the others in the process. Icarus, who can’t seem to take his eyes off the flowers, followed along intently. 

“How are you finding life with the Soldiers, Icarus?” asks Aerith when they’ve settled into a peaceful tandem, quiet and relaxed. “It must be very different from… before.” 

Zack’s told her just about everything, about Icarus and how he came to live with them, about his little quirks and the things they all love about him, and she makes an effort to be sensitive about the topic of his life in the labs up until recently (she also knows how it’s like, to have grown up in the underground pale steel belly). Icarus doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, or even notice it at all, though, only continues staring at the flowers, running his fingers over their petals, sinking his toes into the rich black soil. 

“It’s very nice,” he says. “Warm and gentle and… peaceful. Everyone is connected. They have strong bonds, and the grey is scared of that.” 

“Hm,” Aerith hums thoughtfully. “Can I ask what the grey is?” 

Icarus frowns, tilts his head like he’s thinking. “I don’t like the grey. It has many forms, and can change itself to look like other things so you don’t expect it. The grey comes when you're alone. Or when you think you're alone. And the loneliness turns into pain and hurt, and the sadness turns into anger.” 

He shudders, wraps his arms around himself as if he's remembering something, that happened long ago. Aerith’s heart breaks at the sight of the young boy looking so sad and sorrowful, so small when he's curled into himself like the pain comes from within. She takes off her gloves, reaches over to curl her arms around Icarus’s shoulders, resting her chin on his head. A touch on her hair and there's Zack, kneeling next to them and drawing them both up into his gentle embrace, so warm and all-encompassing, like he's wrapping the wings of a guardian angel around them all. 

“You talk about it like you’ve seen it happen before,” he says, prompting but gentle. 

Icarus nods slowly, turns his face and buries his cheek into Aerith’s collar. “Even good people will sacrifice everything for all the wrong reasons, if they’re pushed to the edge and are convinced that there is no one else to help them,” he whispers. Then he turns around, looks into their eyes with intense magenta eyes. 

“But not this time,” he says firmly, like it’s a responsibility, a vital duty.


	7. Progression

> _“At times the world may seem an unfriendly and sinister place, but I believe that there is much more good in it than bad. All you have to do is look hard enough, and what might seem to be a series of unfortunate events may in fact be the first steps of a journey.”_  
>  ––Lemony Snicket  
> 

Civilians might play “I Spy” when bored, but most soldiers of Genesis’ acquaintance barring perhaps Sephiroth had always preferred “Death By Teacup,” in which the winner was the one who could come up with the best way of killing someone with a random object.

“I’ve killed a man with an egg before,” was Sephiroth’s response to this bizarre form of entertainment. Sephiroth was thereby banned from playing, as everyone agreed he would be likely to indisputably win every time. 

Genesis was bored, walking through the halls of Shinra incorporated, and not banned from the game, and thus was enjoying such a match with himself when out of the corner of his eye he sees a familiar head of blonde spikes in one of the training gyms. He stops mid-stroll, watches through the window as the young cadet struggle with a practice sword too heavy for him and much too large. 

After a few more minutes of letting the frustration grow (no difference there) and no likely end to it, Genesis enters the gym, striding in breezily into the otherwise empty gym and giving the poor blond a heart attack. 

“S-sir!” The cadet jumps, fumbles with his sword, nearly drops it on his foot, catches it, and finally straightens out to give his commanding officer a rather crisp salute, despite all that. 

“At ease, cadet,” Genesis pauses. “Strife, was it?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“How about a spar?” 

“I… what?” 

Genesis grins wickedly. Walks over to the rack and pulls out a practice sword. He makes a face at it—the sword being, after years of wielding Shinra’s best and custom-made specialties, the near equivalent of an unwieldy chunk of rock. 

Nonetheless, he wasn’t going to use his rapier against a mere cadet. The boy was hardly out of babyhood. Genesis turns back to face the cadet, red coat all awhirl around his long legs, raised the practice sword with a flourish, which in his hands suddenly appeared exponentially more intimidating. 

“The invitation was more of a formality, to be honest,” Genesis grins. “En garde, cadet!” 

“AHHHH,” says Cloud in response, just as Genesis suddenly launches himself at him, practice sword flashing threateningly as he brings it up to strike. 

It wasn’t a very impressive fight nor was it a very long one, as Genesis had Cloud on the ground and his sword flung across the gym within seconds. 

“What is your instructor doing while you butcher the art of swordplay?” Genesis scowled. 

“He said he was instructing me, sir,” Cloud answered with a groan. 

“Hm.” Genesis looks thoughtful, then frowns down at the practice sword he was still holding, makes a disgusted noise at it. “This sword is garbage,” he says, then offers to train Cloud. 

Taken off guard by the sudden turn of the conversation, and the fact that the offer had been stated more like an offhand comment than anything, Cloud is sure he’d heard wrong. “Sorry, what was that?” he asks hesitantly. 

“I asked if this time was acceptable for you,” says Genesis breezily. “I’ll assume it is, since you're here now. If not, I’ll talk to your superiors. Meet me here every day from now on until the exams. We have much improvement to do.” 

And that was that. 

* * *

“Have you seen Genesis anywhere?” Angeal asks curiously, looking around Sephiroth’s office from his place at the door as if the mentioned individual would be hiding somewhere amongst the filing cabinets. 

“Not recently.” Sephiroth shuffles some papers, scowls at them as if they would cease to exist through sheer willpower alone. Angeal pities him somewhat––for all his prowess on the battlefield, Sephiroth has never been much of a paperwork person. The man looks bored out of his mind. 

Sephiroth pauses in thought. “Though I believe that he’s taken to personally training Zack’s young friend lately.” 

“Really?” This is news to Angeal. Ever since he’s taken Zack under his wing, there has been talk of the other two of the Trinity taking mentorships of their own. This was in spite no one can ever imagine any greenhorn cadet being able to act appropriately in the face of the great General Sephiroth, and Genesis… well. Genesis can be as volatile as hot oil on a pan and twice as impatient sometimes, and had shown no indication of ever taking interest in having a student. 

Not the case anymore, apparently. 

“Do you think we need any contingency plans?” Angeal asks half jokingly, “In case Genesis decides it’s too much of a hassle?” 

Because they both knew that Genesis’ default reaction to any annoyance was to simply set it on fire. The man had a lot of annoyances, and they had a lot of fires. 

“Don’t worry,” says a soft voice from off to the side. Icarus’ head pops up from behind Sephiroth’s desk by the man’s elbow, wild wisps of white hair sticking out in all directions as if it had its own personal force of gravity. Magenta eyes gaze at them in their never-changing thousand-yard wide eyed stare. “The hearth and the fixer are a good match for each other. They both just needed a direction. I’m happy for them.” 

Icarus smiles, gaze wandering off to somewhere they couldn’t see, and seems to lose focus on the conversation after saying his bit. Angeal and Sephiroth exchange meaningful looks. 

“That’s encouraging, I suppose,” Angeal pats Icarus gently on the head, ruffling his hair and eliciting a noise of surprise from the boy. “Thanks for telling us, Icarus.” 

Icarus pats the hand that still rests atop his head, as if comforting him instead. “Keeping secrets only gives the gray more power.” 

* * *

Cloud passes the exam. 

He stares blankly at the digital announcement bulletin screen in pure, wide-eyed astonishment. There it was. His name amongst a meagre few names in the list that was stated for SOLDIER acceptees. 

“Stop gaping like a simpleton, you’ll catch flies,” says Genesis beside him. 

“Genesis––I… I passed!” 

“I can see that you did. Why are you so surprised?” Genesis sniffs nonchalantly, though he obviously was trying not to look proud of his student. “All it took was for me to come along and bestow some semblance of skill and seemliness upon you.” 

(It took a while to realise that he’d taken to thinking of the cadet as his _student_ , and by that time “Strife” had already become “Cloud” and it was no going back then). 

Cloud lets out a startled, but genuine laugh, still half dazed in disbelief. “‘Bestow upon me?’ More like kick it into me a couple hundred times.” 

“I don’t see the difference.” 

“You are a horrible person,” Cloud says, but there’s a smile on his lips, so Genesis thinks he can let that insult slide just once. 

“Perhaps, but I’m rich and I’m pretty so it doesn’t matter,” Genesis declares with all the shame of a proud peacock. 

Cloud rolls his eyes, but smiles in the end. This easy banter is something he’d never in his life thought would share with one of Shinra’s living legends, but here he is. And Commander Genesis Rhapsodos had become just “Genesis.” It blows his mind just to think that this would be where he’d be in life just a year and a half since arriving at MIdgard. 

“Genesis, I… I just wanted to say thanks,” Cloud stumbles haltingly through his words, trying to think of a more adequate way to express his gratitude, but coming up with a blank. “I could never have gone this far without everything you’ve done for me.” 

“Oh,” Genesis waves off the thanks, but his eyes are fond when he looks at the blond. “Once I started, I couldn’t very much leave it a job half-done, could I? That would’ve been embarrassing for the both of us.” 

“Ugh,” Cloud says, still feeling the residual remnants of embarrassment, because if anyone can be allergic to sappy feelings, it was him. “Just accept my words of gratitude.” 

“Very well, Cloud.” 

Genesis grows quiet, something sliding over his face that Cloud didn’t quite catch before it was gone. He steps in closer to Cloud, lowers his voice so he can ask, “You know what’s next?”

“The mako conversions,” answers Cloud without hesitation. He tilts his head, looking at Genesis questioningly. “Why do you ask?” 

Genesis says nothing for a while, but Cloud can see the way the older man looks at him. A bit of pride, and a bit of regret. “Best prepare yourself,” the man advises. 

“Is it that bad?” Cloud asks him. 

Genesis makes a noise of amusement, and smiles sardonically. “Keep your eyes on what you originally set out for, Cloud,” he says. “And nothing will ever be too much to endure.” 

* * *

His body is burning up, and his blood is boiling within his very veins. 

Cloud pants, coughs weakly, and half-rolls over in a futile attempt to relieve some of the liquid pain roiling through his bloodstream. A low, breathless noise of pain escapes him before he can stifle it. 

He’s aware. He’s painfully, horrifically aware of everything that is happening. There is no haze, no numbingness, no relief of unconsciousness to be had. Everything is crystal clear and magnified. He can _feel_ every shift and change and _tweak_ the foreign mako makes to his body as it spreads through him. 

Every time he’s about to pass out from the pain and disorientation, he’s jolted back to full consciousness as the mako writes and rewrites the programming of his brain, as it restructures the nerves and electrical currents, repairs every damaged circuit––allowing for heightened processing power, registration of information through the senses and faster reactory signals. Restoring and reinforcing short term and long term memory so that when the mako finishes, there’s a mental click and suddenly everything he’s ever experienced in his life comes surging back in full, horrifying detail. 

He flinches when something touches his wrist, and he instantly regrets the sudden movement as a new wave of pain shudders through him. Rubber gloves. Latex. His nose sends him the information when his mind is not yet ready to receive it. He’d squeezed his eyes shut somewhere along the way, and when he blinks them open, his vision is both blindingly clear and blurry from feverish tears. 

“Patient 21 experiencing minor difficulties with mako infusions.” The woman in green scrubs and a mask over her face takes her hand from his wrist and records the information into the clipboard she held. Her voices comes to him both too loud and too quiet, muffled and distorted as if he is ten feet underwater. “No signs of mutation observed, will continue monitoring.” 

His head is pounding and his brain feels as if it is going to melt to pieces and spill right out through his ears. He groans quietly when there’s a _schlick_ and he feels his muscle fibers _peel_ away from each other to allow for the new reinforcements that the mako is generating that would allow him to use superhuman strength without ripping his limbs off. 

Cloud would have screamed if his vocal chords hadn’t been in the process of being melted down and created anew. If his teeth and jawbone and the rest of his skeletal structure weren’t being torn apart and remade infused with new reinforcements. But gods, even his _skin_ feels raw and flayed open. 

But most of all, the feeling of being something _unfinished_ , a work halfway in progress, invaded his mind to no end, like an unwelcome resident that won’t go away. The sensation makes itself impossible to ignore even through everything that is happening to him. It is this ever-present feeling, of bleak, desolate _incompleteness_ , that he thinks, above everything, will have driven him mad by the end. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed since arriving at the operating room (ordered to strip, strapped to the gurney in only a thin hospital shift and laid open––steel glinting in the blinding light overhead, the surgeons looming over him transformed into inhuman silhouettes by it) and now. How long has he endured this hell already? How much longer? 

The minutes stretch and constrict, as hours fly by even when the seconds slow down to a limp, agonizing crawl. And all the while, new mako drips into his veins from the bag hanging on the hook above his head. 

The lights have been dimmed the next time he squints his eyes open, and he doesn’t sense the nurse’s presence anymore. He’s alone and all too aware of the noises of misery and suffering seeping through from behind the walls, in the other rooms where he and the rest of the SOLDIER acceptees had been isolated each in their own small room. (Moans and groans, crying, screaming, yelling out for _mother_ , and––there… a wail of agony that transforms mid-cry into something more guttural, more _inhuman_ , reaching a deep, deafening roar that could never have come from a human throat. The mutations have begun.) 

He wonders how many of them he will see after this. (He’s beginning to wonder if there really is an “after this”, wonder whether he’ll just remain stuck in this torment forever.) 

A low whine, pained and desperate, slips out of him unwittingly as he tries to breathe through the mako fever. He chokes. His lungs aren’t getting enough air but every shallow breath he takes causes a surge of new pain to wrack through his body. 

His breathing gets shallower and quicker, and through the agony he panics, wondering deliriously if this is going to be it for him, if he is just going to _suffocate_ to death in this bed. 

“Mh,” he squeezes out pitifully. “G––en… Za… Za––ck! Zack…!” He pants, hopeless and half-blind. A sob escapes his lips, and he half-curls on his side, writhing and clutching at his burning chest, and he utters a name he hasn’t said in a very long time. 

His lips tremble. “... _Ma_ …” 

Someone catches his outstretched hand. 

He jolts, not even realising that he’d been reaching out for something that hadn’t been there. New, fresh air rushes down his suddenly clear windpipe, feeding his starving lungs with new life. Relief floods through every crevice of his body––sweet, sweet respite from the eternity of suffering. 

He breathes again, deeply, taking the opportunity of a breath that doesn’t cost him pain, filling his lungs with air that is strangely comforting, cold and sweet and _familiar_ ; like the mountainous natural air of his home. 

Cloud stares with feverish, bleary eyes at the small hands that clutch his hand so tightly, tracing them to the face of the person they belong to. Brilliant red-violet eyes gaze steadily back, and Icarus gives him a soft, dreamy smile. 

“Ic–Icarus?” Cloud tries to say, but it comes out hoarse, barely a silent whisper. _What are you doing here?_ He wants to ask. _How did you…?_

“Shh,” Icarus presses a hand to Cloud’s forehead, and Cloud sucks in a breath when a wave of warm, soothing _gentleness_ washes over his mind, like water over his frayed nerves that had been _burning_ just moments before. “Peace, my young, strong Silver,” Icarus whispers, and even though the boy looks younger than him Cloud is overwhelmed by the feeling of being comforted by someone decades older, so warm and tender. “You’ve done well. Now—it’s time for you to rest.” 

Cloud finds himself being shifted back into position on the bed so he is no longer in danger of falling out of it, the covers that had been twisted around his legs being untangled and tucked over him. A weight settles into place next to him, and Cloud looks down in surprise to see that Icarus had climbed into the bed as well, curling into him as a warm, comforting solid form at his side. 

The boy looks up at him and Cloud suddenly realises that the entire time Icarus hadn’t let go of his hand even once. Those magenta eyes, normally impossible-looking any other day, are now glowing brilliant, roiling seas and burning red-violets that turn on over each other within that bright gaze, like magma. Cloud wonders, distantly, if Icarus is doing something to make the mako fever pain go away. 

Before he can think about it further, fingers touch his cheek lightly and Cloud falls asleep, exhausted mind succumbing to peaceful slumber. 

* * *

The next time Cloud wakes up, he’s met with peace. It’s a slow realization when he turns over and bumps against a warm body under the covers with him, when he opens his eyes and sees Icarus already staring back at him. He’s sitting perched on the bed with his back to the headbars, hands wraps around his knees and looking all of the mystical fae from whatever fantasy tale he sprang out of. The overwhelming power he’d witnessed the night before is gone; Icarus’s eyes have returned back to their original odd hue. 

“Icarus, you…” 

It had been the most restful, sweetest and gentlest sleep he’s had in forever, he realizes with a start. He feels bizarrely refreshed, re-energized, recharged. 

Cloud takes a deep breath, stretching in place, toes curling, lungs inhaling the ventilated air of the underground laboratories, now able to keep up with the information that floods in along with the air. 

There’s someone coming. Two seconds after the thought registers in his brain, the doorknob turns and General Sephiroth steps in through his door. 

Cloud jerks upright in his bed, only stopped from completely getting out when the man holds up a hand. “General, sir!” 

“At ease,” Sephiroth replies smoothly, and though he casts an eye over Cloud, his attention comes to a rest on the boy next to him. “When I said to rest, I didn’t mean in someone else’s bed, Icarus.” 

Icarus smiles, unbothered by everything in the world. “There was a storm,” he says, sliding out of the bed and going over to Sephiroth, bare feet making little _pit-pat_ noises on the floor. “I had to make sure it didn’t blow everyone away.” 

Sephiroth’s eyebrow raises but his eyes are thoughtful as he puts a hand softly on Icarus’ back. 

Typically Hojo is occupied with the new SOLDIER acceptee mako conversions during this time. But since the equipment was already set up, he chose to complete Sephiroth’s routine mako touch-up while he was at it. Sephiroth was asked to bring Icarus as well for his own tests, and it was so hectic that the two of them ended up staying in the laboratories overnight. 

“Did you accomplish what you came for?” He asks Icarus, because though he’s making progress on translating his strange lingo, it’s another matter entirely to know what it means in relation to real-world events. Even so, Sephiroth can tell that it had been important. 

“I think so.” Icarus tilts his head thoughtfully. “You can never tell with the star storms. But it’s gone for now.” 

Good. Sephiroth considers the blond in the bed, who is beginning to get distracted by what he deduces must be his new mako enhanced senses and all the extra bits of information that comes with it. It’s similar to taking off a blurry film that had smothered one’s senses up until the point. Or so he’s told from other soldiers. 

What is it about this young man that Icarus had deemed so special, Sephiroth puts on speculation for later. Though just before he leaves, he pauses at the doorway and says— 

“Congratulations on making SOLDIER.” 

* * *

Cloud’s heard of some of the men in the infantry getting identical tattoos after they’re accepted into the army. As a sign or label, or something material to symbolize their induction, or the fact that they’re all in this together. 

Even without the uniform, anyone can tell who’s a SOLDIER and who isn’t, just by looking at the eyes. The distinct mako shine of the eyes that will and always have given away a Soldier, that will always identify the group as a whole. 

On the battlefield, it makes for quite a sight. Dozens of pairs of glowing eyes staring back at you, belonging to men who are all prepared to wreck their own path of destruction. Everyone knows the mako shine, whether they’ve seen it for themselves or heard about it from rumors passed around. SOLDIERs don’t need tattoos or anything of the like. 

Instead, all Cloud gets when he’s dressed and finally released from the labs is a cardboard box shoved into his arms with his uniforms and new identification badges inside. 

He’s still cold, hungry, and a bit disoriented, and he’s still has to get used to his new SOLDIER strength (the first doorknob he touched had crumpled beneath his grip like it was so much paper). But when he sees Zack waiting for him right outside the labs, Cloud can’t keep the smile from forming on his face. 

“Spikeeee!” Cloud grunts when Zack slaps him on the back, but shockingly, he doesn’t pitch forward and almost fall on his face like he always had before. Zack’s grin becomes even bigger, so he must notice it, too. “Glad you came out in one piece, man.” 

_I remember calling your name_ , thinks Cloud, the awful night before coming unbidden to his mind. “Glad to see you again, Zack,” Cloud replies, and means it wholeheartedly. He’d wondered, at some point through the feverish hell of mako haze, if he would ever get the chance see his friend’s face one more time, and he’s glad he can now. 

“Do you have your room assignment yet? I’ll show you the way there.” Then Zack pouted, “I tried asking the higher ups if I could get you as a roommate, but apparently they already finalized all the arrangements.” 

Cloud resists the sigh of disappointment, opting instead to rummage around the folder at the top of the box for his room assignment. He been hoping to get Zack as a roommate. “It’s…” Cloud pulls out the sheet and squints his eyes at the numbers. If he doesn’t focus, his eyes would pick out the components of ink and tiny fibers of wood pulp that held the piece of paper together, making reading the actual words on it a viable mess. “Room 6075,” he says. 

Zack frowns. “Huh, don’t recognize it. They must’ve put you in with another newbie.” 

Cloud shrugs helplessly in response. 

“Well then,” suddenly Zack’s great big, goofy grin is back and he tugs at Cloud’s arm. “Let’s go meet your new buddy!” 

Sixty floors and three hallways later, Cloud’s new buddy turns out to be a tall, dark teenager with a slouch that answered the door with a toothbrush in his mouth and foam on his chin. He left them to let themselves in, and finishing up brushing his teeth in the bathroom. 

“Yo,” he says by way of greeting when he comes back out. His gray eyes, though partway covered by a lax, half-lid gaze, are sharp as they center in on Cloud and he holds out his hand. “Since that’s the famous Zack Fair, you must be my new roomie. Nice to meet you. The name’s Capella Knightly.” 

“Cloud Strife.” 

Cloud takes the hand automatically, even as he feels himself freeze at the name. _Capella Knightly?_

“Whoa, wait, wait, wait, _you’re_ Capella Knightly?” Zack voices the thought straight out of Cloud’s head. “The first-sniper-specialist-in-SOLDIER-ever Capella Knightly? The I-got-into-honorary-infantry-as-a-cadet Capella Knightly? The they-call-me-death-from-above-in-Wutai-armies Capella Knightly? That one?“ 

Capella’s smiling now; a crooked, lopsided thing that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Yeah, I guess that’s me.” 

“Ohh man,” says Zack. He rubs the back of his head. “Oh man,” he says again when he catches sight of the digital clock on a desk. “Cloud, sorry, I gotta go. Got a debriefing session in about five. You get yourself settled in, alright?” 

Cloud rolls his eyes. “I’ll be fine, Zack. Go before you’re later than you already are.” 

“Oh and––” Zack adds just before he leaves, “Any trouble from your roommate and ShinRa’s best sniper or no, I’ll help you kick his ass.” 

Cloud rolls his eyes even harder and starts physically pushing Zack out. Or, he tries to. Mako enhancements accumulate over time, and Zack is still quite a bit larger than him. “I’m _fine_ , Zack. I can take care of myself.” 

With one last laugh and a rough tousle of Cloud’s hair, Zack’s gone, disappearing around the corridor. 

Cloud makes a show of fixing his hair while grumbling under his breath, but he can’t hide the fond smile that comes to his face. 

“You two are pretty good friends, huh? Cute.” 

Cloud turns, but Capella’s already wandering away, sprawling down one of the beds of the room, on the side that’s clearly been occupied and already filled with little knick knacks around it. Capella gestures to the other side across him, empty and untouched. “That’s your half of the territory, Cloud. Make yourself at home.” 

Cloud dumps his box on his desk and then there’s a moment of pause as he considers what to do now. He’ll be able to retrieve his belongings from his cadet locker tomorrow, so all he has on hand at the present is everything in the box and the clothes he’s wearing. There isn’t much to unpack. 

Something catches his eye. It’s a large, gunmetal-grey case leaning vertically against the endboard of Capella’s bed, half-cast in shadow. 

“Curious about something, bud?” Capella’s watching him out of the corner of his eye, head pillowed on his hands, fingers interlaced, foot propped on the other knee. He looks the picture of relaxation. Looking at him, Cloud can’t match the image he’s seeing to what he’s heard about the teenager. 

Cloud nods at the case. “What’s that?” he asks. 

Capella sits up and, seeing what’s caught Cloud’s attention, breaks into that lopsy grin. 

“That’s my girl right there,” he replies, and there’s something in his voice that Cloud can’t quite make out. A bit of pride, maybe, and a bit of something else. (Something terrible.) “She’s my executioner on the field. I aim and pull the trigger, but she does all the work. A sniper ain’t gonna survive without their battle bride otherwise.” 

His sniper weapon, Cloud realizes. Oh. Suddenly, the dark gray case seems exponentially more dangerous. More… _damned_. Cloud imagines all the parts of the rifle, disassembled, cleaned, and placed neatly into the case for the next time it is needed. He imagines all the lives it must already have taken, if what he’s told of Capella Knightly is true. 

According to rumors, Capella didn’t even have to take the SOLDIER exam. Director Lazard and the other C.O.’s rolled out the red carpet for him to join. 

“Well,” Capella gives him a conspiratorial look when Cloud, out of sheer curiosity, mentions this. “Who knows?” 

(Given that Cloud didn’t see him in any of the two exams he attended, and Capella is in the same new batch of SOLDIER recruits as Cloud, he’d say the rumor rings true.) 

Capella breaks into a giant yawn and lets out a huge sigh. “Better get some sleep, bud. You’re still a little sore from the mako, right? Yeah, me too.” 

And before Cloud can point out that he’d just answered his own question or reply in any other way, Capella’s already closed his eyes and dropped into a steady, light sleep. Habits of a soldier used to the field, Cloud recognizes. Habits of someone who’s used to getting as much sleep as possible at any opportunity it was safe to get it. 

Cloud is careful to be as quiet as he can in washing up and changing into sleepwear. But just as he slides beneath the covers and gets settled into bed, he hears a quiet voice from the other side of the room: 

“Sleep tight, Cloud.” 

… 

“G’night, Capella.” Cloud smiles to himself. 

For such a high-hailed person, Capella Knightly is pretty okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there. For those of you who are returning, welcome back. Thanks for waiting for so long. 
> 
> A bit of heads up: less of Icarus here and for the next chapter, too. I wanted to expand on the members of the SOLDIER division a little more... as I quite enjoy world building and character expansion. Don't fret, Icarus will pop up here and there a bit, as he's always known to do.


End file.
